


No Place in the World (But a Place in the Stars)

by TheDarknessFactor



Category: Interstellar (2014), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, MCU/Interstellar fusion, Multiple character deaths mentioned, Natasha Romanoff needs a hug, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4222515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarknessFactor/pseuds/TheDarknessFactor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why d’you think Mom and Dad named me after something that’s bad?”</p><p>Natasha owned a cat, a long time ago.  She named her ‘Bad Luck’, but luck had always been two sides of the same coin for her.  What was good luck for one person was usually bad luck for someone else.  Liho had passed away peacefully; Natasha had cremated her and sprinkled her ashes over a community garden in New York City, a few weeks before the foot shortage was officially announced and rations were being put into effect.</p><p>“It’s not good or bad, Murph,” Natasha says.  “I think that’s the point.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Place in the World (But a Place in the Stars)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a thing. It turned into a very looooong thing. Oops.
> 
> I was listening to the Interstellar soundtrack a week ago, and my thoughts (inevitably) turned to Brucenat. This was begging to be written, so I plopped myself down and got to work. It morphed from a 'Bruce and Natasha reunite after decades' into 'Natasha and family feels with some Bruce involved', because my stories never do end up quite the way that I mean for them to.
> 
> Knowledge of Interstellar isn't exactly required, but some people might be confused if they haven't seen the movie. To explain the background of this story a little bit: it's still set in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, just years later. Thanos has already happened. Natasha ages very slowly because of what the Red Room did to her, and Bruce ages slowly because of the Hulk. The rest is explained in the story.
> 
> I hope you guys like it!

Her eyes slide open.

The murky shapes and cacophonous sounds recede from the forefront of her memory, but she knows that if she closes her eyes she will see them on her eyelids.  Natasha always wakes quietly, without moving a muscle, but there is nothing she can do about her actions in sleep, so it doesn’t surprise her when there’s a shuffle near the doorway.  She breathes in once, feeling as though the dust that waits for her outside is already crowding her lungs.

“Nat?”

Natasha rolls onto her side, just barely able to make out the shadowy form.  Murph approaches the bed, her arms cradling her pillow.

“You don’t have nightmares,” Murph points out.

“Everyone has nightmares, Murph.”

Murph just looks at her.  “Was it the aliens again?  I thought maybe you were the ghost, but then I heard you say some names that are only in the history books.  The ones that you gave me, anyway.  The ones they give us at school are shit, say that New York didn’t even happen—“

“Swear jar, Murph,” Natasha mumbles into her pillow.  “After you go back to bed, and then wake up for school.”

Murph huffs.  “Sun’s coming up soon, Nat.”

“Not soon enough.”  Natasha makes a shooing motion with her hand.  “Bed, now.”

She closes her eyes to make her point.  There’s a short pause before the padding of feet on the floorboards signals that Murph is obeying and heading back to her bedroom.  Eventually, there’s a creak that means Murph has climbed into bed, and it’s then that Natasha lifts her head and swings her feet over the edge, unable to suppress a shiver at the cold that seeps up from the floor.  The horizon is indeed just beginning to turn pink; Natasha wraps a blanket around herself and moves silently to the window.  Unlike Murph, she makes no sound as she moves.

A heavy feeling settles in her chest as the sun rises.  The world is always deceptively calm; it makes Natasha even more distrustful of it than she already is.  There are acres of corn stretching off into the distance; she shuffles her feet, feeling dirt gather between her toes, and then dresses and heads down to the kitchen. 

Murph, Tom, and Nate are already eating breakfast.  Without looking, Natasha points to the swear jar and says, “Hop to it, Murph.”

Murph rolls her eyes, but digs a quarter out of her pocket and lets it plink inside anyway.

“You swearing in front of Nat again?” asks Tom.  “Nice one, genius.”

“Nat swears,” mumbles Murph.  “Her books say that Captain America used to swear, too.”

“Yeah, but I’d rather not have to hear the stories from your teachers about how you’re cursing up a storm in class,” Natasha points out, flipping over a plate and wishing for toast instead of corn.  “We’ve got parent teacher conferences today.  I’d prefer to spend as little time there as possible.”

Murph opens her mouth (full of food— Natasha’s not a great parent) and says, “If you hate our school so much, why’d you send us there?”

“Gotta learn somewhere.  It’s better than my school was, anyway.” 

“You never _actually_ say what was so bad about your school.”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”  At Murph’s skeptical look, Natasha amends her statement.  “Maybe.”

Nate’s eyes flicker up to hers.  Unlike the two kids who are sitting and eating their breakfast, completely oblivious, he’s aware of exactly who and what she is.  They’ve discussed this before, when he hit sixty and Natasha still looked no older than forty (she was thirty when he was born).  Natasha doesn’t like keeping secrets anymore, but she agrees that it’s better for their peace of mind to find out when they’re adults.  It’s better for her own peace of mind to pretend, too, although she’s never admitted that to Nate.  He may already know, though; Nathaniel Barton has always been sharp.

Natasha checks her watch, and— “Fuck.”

“See?” exclaims Murph.  She grins smugly.  “Swear jar, Nat.”

Natasha pulls out her wallet and picks out an old quarter, with Nebraska’s picture engraved on it.  She winks at Murph, aims, and flicks the quarter into the jar from where she’s sitting.  Tom whistles, impressed.  Nate ignores the whole thing; he’s seen her show off plenty of times before. 

“Anyway, swear jar aside, we’re going to be late,” Natasha says.  “Get off your butts, people— Murph, bring your breakfast with you if you’re that worried about going hungry until lunchtime.  You guys got everything?”

They all pile outside, kicking up a small cloud of dust as Tom and Murph run for the truck.  Natasha pauses on the porch, taking in the sight of black clouds floating over to the west. 

“Last okra harvest,” she murmurs.  Nate nods next to her.  “Just corn now?”

“So far as we can tell.”

Natasha breathes, and pretends that half of what’s going in her nose isn’t dust.

“You gonna be alright?” she asks Nate.

“You just worry about yourself, old lady,” he retorts, a jagged grin splitting his face.  He salutes her as she gets in the truck.  Natasha’s half tempted to flip him off in return, but she can she feel Murph’s eyes on her, so she opts out of it.

They get a flat tire about halfway to the school, so Natasha pulls Tom out of the truck with her and shows him how to patch it.  Their conversation while she does is easy, companionable.  Tom, in spite of the being the one to understand what it truly meant, has never held a grudge over her taking his father’s place in his life.  He’s as easygoing as his great-grandfather, which only makes Natasha proud.  They don’t call her Mom, sure, but these are her kids, god damn it.

Murph peers at them curiously out of the backseat.  Natasha waves for her to come outside.

“You sure you don’t know everything, Nat?”

Natasha chuckles.  “If someone knew everything, Murph, they’d go nuts.”

“But you know a lot of stuff.”

Natasha looks down at her.  “I’d like to think so.  Something on your mind, kiddo?”

“Why d’you think Mom and Dad named me after something that’s bad?”

Natasha owned a cat, a long time ago.  She named her ‘Bad Luck’, but luck had always been two sides of the same coin for her.  What was good luck for one person was usually bad luck for someone else.  Liho had passed away peacefully; Natasha had cremated her and sprinkled her ashes over a community garden in New York City, a few weeks before the foot shortage was officially announced and rations were being put into effect.

“It’s not good or bad, Murph,” Natasha says.  “I think that’s the point.”

* * *

They end up chasing down an Indian Air Force drone and are thirty minutes late to the school because of it, but there is something inherently satisfying about hauling an aircraft around in her truck.  Natasha is also having mixed feelings about the symbol she found near the nose— a familiar eagle.  She doesn’t point it out to the kids, and when Murph asks her about it she feigns being clueless.  Her curiosity will have to be satisfied when Murph isn’t looking over her shoulder.  Natasha hasn’t had the courage to discuss S.H.I.E.L.D. in a long time.

The conference is an unmitigated disaster.

She knows that there’s nothing she can do about Tom getting into college.  She’s suspected it from the start; he’s a smart kid, but he doesn’t nearly rival Murph or any of the others who are selected to study at the university.  He’s always been invested in the farm, though, so she’s hoping that it won’t hit him so hard.  She controls her breathing and avoids grinding her teeth while they praise his scores in farming, adoring his capabilities as a provider of food, nothing more.

There were once people who cared about making the world into something more, but everyone that Natasha knew who was like that is dead.  And maybe she wanted to change the world once, too.  Maybe she did change the world, once. 

Who is she kidding?  She’s got kids to feed.  If Nick Fury were to somehow show up on her doorstep, resurrected (she wouldn’t put it past him), she’d grab Murph and Tom and run like hell.

The teacher and principal fall silent, evidently waiting for a reaction.  Natasha shakes herself.  “Fine.  Sure.  Why is Murph currently waiting in my truck instead of going to class?”

They exchange glances.  Great.

“Murph is a great kid—“ the woman begins, but Natasha interrupts.

“I’m guessing that this has something to do with the copy of ‘Fortitude and Fear: the Superheroes of our Age’ that you’re hiding under the table?”

The teacher blinks, then pulls said book out and puts it down.  “Look, Ms. Rushman… you have to understand.  All of our history books have been replaced with the corrected version, but your daughter is somehow getting her hands on textbooks that are, frankly, fiction— this is full of the information on the Avengers and the Battle of New York, and sure those are all great stories, but we’re here to deal with reality.  She got into a fight over one boy about the existence of Scarlet Witch—“

 _Flashes of red, the earth breaking up, Wanda_ screaming—

“— and then she fought with several other classmates about the Apollo missions.”

Natasha just barely represses a snort.  Well.  Education, it seems, has stooped to a new low.  She knows that most people feel that they need to enter a new Dark Age in order to survive, but ignorance is far from bliss.  She tunes the teacher out as she gives a speech that she thinks is meant to be placating; her stone face is making both of them nervous.  Something about the brilliance of the propaganda, which only makes Natasha think of the Soviet Union.

It would be so easy to haul either the teacher or the principal up by their shirt and snarl about how she was _there_ for New York, how she looked death in the face one too many times that day and _lived_ , and see if they bullshit her about this now— but no.  They’ll take Murph and Tom away from her.  So Natasha sits, and pretends to listen, and does not think about getting shawarma with five of the people she loved most in the world.

When the two finally ask her what she thinks of the situation, Natasha smiles.  It’s not a nice smile.

A few minutes later she’s back outside.  “Get to class, Murph,” she orders.  “No fighting, no matter what they say.”

“They say stupid stuff.”

“I know, kiddo.”  Natasha sighs.  She opens her arms, and Murph only hesitates for a few seconds before accepting her hug.  “Just between you and me,” she mutters in Murph’s ear, “they deserved every right hook they got.”  That startles a laugh out of Murph, who squeezes her more tightly and doesn’t seem all that inclined to let go.  She does so anyway, waving at her as she hurries into the building.  Natasha’s smile stays on her face for the entire drive home.

* * *

After she sends the tractors on their way (what even has been going on in their house lately?), Natasha takes the air force drone out back.  She dissects it with as much care as if it were a living, breathing creature, unscrewing the cover plate and pulling out several wires, eventually managing to hook it up to her computer.  The only data she gets is a series of coordinates— the route that the drone has been taking all these years, until it inexplicably flew low enough for her to hack into.  Along with the coordinates, however, comes the small sigil of S.H.I.E.L.D., and a few notes by one Tony Stark.  Natasha suddenly finds herself taking the rest of it apart relentlessly, using some of the machinery to upgrade her laptop and leaving the rest for when she’ll eventually need to repair the tractors.  That happens once every few years or so.

She ends up going for a run around the farm until her lungs are burning, then does pushups on the porch until she can’t feel her arms.  At some point, Nate comes outside to stare at her before shaking his head and going back in.  She doesn’t acknowledge him, mired in her thoughts as she is.  The shower does little to wash off the grime, so she goes back out and inspects the fields as the sun approaches the west.  It’s familiar, a routine— one that she’s never liked, but tolerated for Murph and Tom.

“I didn’t fight them today,” Murph grumbles after Nate picks them up from school.  “I wanted to though, Nat.  They were making fun of Captain America.”

Steve, Steve, oh god.  Steve, who choked on his own blood before she could even get to him.

“Your knuckles probably hurt less, though.”

“Think I’d rather have my knuckles hurt.”

“I’m surprised Nat managed to convince you not to use one of your classmates as a punching bag,” Tom jokes.

“I’ll use _you_ as a punching bag—“

“Murph,” Natasha interrupts. 

Murph glares at Tom a moment longer, before huffing.  Natasha kneels in front of her, making sure that Murph is looking her in the eye.  Nate is watching from the doorway.  Tom has gone upstairs to start on his homework, which is fine; Natasha doesn’t think he’d be all that interested in what she’s about to share, anyway.

“You think this is going to start happening a lot?” she asks.

Murph wraps her arms around herself.  “I don’t know.  It’s not just the other kids— the teachers do it too.  They don’t say it, but they think I’m stupid for believing in all that stuff.  The Avengers and NASA and S.H.I.E.L.D., and all that other stuff that used to happen that everyone says didn’t happen.  It gets hard not to hit _something_ by the end of the day.”

“Come out back with me,” Natasha invites.

Both of Murph’s eyebrows go up, but she follows Natasha without protest, curiosity getting the better of her.  Nate follows the two of them outside, settling into the rocking chair that they keep behind the house.  Natasha walks until she’s a good twenty feet away from the house, gesturing for Murph to stand next to her. 

“Alright,” she says, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet, bending her knees slightly, and settling into an old position that she knows too well.  “Try to copy me.”

* * *

Fighting again (not really fighting, not when you’re teaching an eleven year old) is both exhilarating and terrifying.  Exhilarating because some small part of Natasha has missed this.  Terrifying because she believed that she’d somehow buried this part of herself. 

Murph starts getting awestruck around her.  That only makes her more uncomfortable.

They always start each lesson with, “Remember what you promised?”

“I will only use what I learn here in defense of myself.”

After about a week, Natasha starts bringing Tom in on the lessons as well.  He doesn’t take to it as well as Murph does, but the more she works with Murph on her self-defense, the more convinced she becomes that it’ll be good for Tom to learn.  She teaches them both to put real power behind their punches, and to drive their knee up into someone’s face, and the right places to land a hit in order to stun someone or injure them enough to make fighting impossible.  Murph absorbs it all with terrifying precision.  Tom has brute strength on his side, and he does a good job of picking up on how to take advantage of that.

Natasha doesn’t think they’ll ever have to use their newly-found skills.  Then again, she never thought aliens would invade New York, either.

She eventually manages to put together a few sequences so that Murph can practice by herself when Natasha needs to go check out a part of the farm.  At one point, when she leaves Murph to her own devices, Nate pulls her aside. 

“You know it won’t be invading aliens that eventually kill them,” he warns. 

Natasha pushes his hand away.  “Never say that to me again, Nathaniel.”

He lifts his hands up in surrender, but he still keeps an eye on her from then on.  Natasha goes to the edge of the farm and rips up a couple of stalks of dying corn, throwing them on the side of the road and wishing she could _break_ something.

The four of them head to a baseball game the next Saturday.  Murph and Tom are happy to eat popcorn during the game, but Natasha and Nate abstain.  She and Steve once went to a ball game, back when the stadium was full of a roaring crowd and piping hot funnel cakes.  These are the Yankees, though.  Steve would never stoop so low as to go to a Yankees’ game.  _Look how far you’ve fallen, Romanoff,_ he would say.

The klaxon alarms start blaring as a monster of dust rears its ugly head in the distance.  Natasha herds everyone back to the truck, already feeling the sting of dust in her eyes, smothering her nose and mouth.  It’s all she can do to shield Murph from the onslaught as they stumble towards the house, being punished by the wind even as they manage to slam the front door behind them.

“All windows closed?” Natasha asks, momentarily feeling like she’s in charge of an op again.

She almost doesn’t spot it, but she sees Murph’s eyes widen before the girl bolts up the stairs.  Natasha gives chase without a second thought, emerging to find herself staring at the ethereal sight before her.  She makes sure to shut the window before studying it further.

In a way, it reminds her of Asgard— the one time she and the Avengers went there, while the Infinity War was ongoing and just after Thanos had slaughtered the Asgardians until almost none remained.  There, even amidst destruction, golden light had streamed through the halls more clearly than any light on earth.  Now, the dust in the air was sharply aligned in a pattern that was easy for Natasha to recognize, for all the code making and breaking that she’d done in her past.

“Binary, Murph,” she says, rubbing her hands together.  “You got your notebook?”

They huddle together on the floor while Natasha scribbles furiously on the next empty page, Murph clutching her pillow and watching while Natasha deciphers the pattern.  Eventually a warm weight lands on her shoulder, and Natasha curls an around Murph and keeps her tucked against her side while she sleeps.  Her mind is racing on overdrive— she doesn’t think she could sleep now even if she wanted to.  She glances up at the spots on Murph’s bookshelf where the books have fallen to the floor. 

“Murph’s too smart for her own good,” she murmurs.  “First Morse, now binary.  What are you up to?”

The ghost, for all its liveliness, doesn’t answer.

It takes more time that Natasha would like, but then she’s getting slow in her old age.  She has a set of base-ten numbers on the page, and she stares at them, curiosity and caution waging a war in her mind.  Murph doesn’t stir throughout the night, but eventually Natasha lifts her up and carries her to her own room, settling Murph in her bed before heading down to the kitchen.  Nate’s not there, so he’s probably sleeping as well. 

Natasha wishes she had coffee, but settles for a cold glass of water and digs out a file that she keeps hidden under the kitchen sink.  Not even Nate knows about the file, and Murph and Tom can never know, but she opens it on the table anyway, revealing old photos, emails printed on paper, telegraphs from when the Internet went down.  The first picture to reveal itself to her is one of her and the team from before the Infinity War, with her arm slung around Wanda’s shoulders and Sam laughing on her other side.  She moves on to the next one: the first team, after S.H.I.E.L.D.’s fall.  It was at the party before Ultron attacked.

She keeps looking through it because she’s a bit of a masochist that way.  It’s a reminder of what she’s lost as the years withered the rest of them away, but left her untouched.  Well, mostly untouched.  Natasha’s gained a couple of wrinkles, but her hair is the same shade of red.  Years of working on a farm have meant that her fighting abilities aren’t what they used to be, either, but she’s less upset about that. 

There’s another photo, of her and Steve.  A series of emails between her and Pepper a few weeks before Pepper died at the age of 95.  Not many of them ever had children, and of those that did, Clint’s family was the only one that Natasha made an effort to keep in contact with.  Wanda was the last— Natasha had been at her bedside when she died, and held her hand while the other woman cried at the thought of leaving her alone.  That had been when Natasha packed up her bags and ‘vanished’ for good.

Natasha packs up the file long before anyone else in the house wakes up.

* * *

It’s Sunday, so she doesn’t have to worry about getting the kids to school.  Natasha leaves a note on the counter and climbs in the truck, the page from Murph’s notebook clutched in a white-knuckled grips as she drives.  The coordinates have no meaning that she can recall from her S.H.I.E.L.D. days, but she keeps driving anyway, even until the sun begins to set and she can’t see much further than her headlights.

Leaving behind farmland is a relief.  Now there’s only the wilderness— grasses that have survived the Blight, occasionally a bird.  Natasha hums to herself as she makes another turn and almost runs headfirst into an old gate.  She slams on the brakes, swearing under her breath.

It’s all the usual stuff— a forbidding red sign, chains on a padlock.  Natasha hops out of the truck and grabs her boltcutters, undeterred by the security.  The place looks old— too old for anyone to be left here.  The chain comes loose easily, and Natasha’s about to push the gate open when she’s suddenly blinded by a light that isn’t coming from her headlights.  Instinctively she rolls over the hood of the car, crouching behind it for protection, even as a voice shouts at her.

“Stand up!  Hands where I can see them!”

_Not on your life._

Natasha hurries around the back of the truck, hefting the bolt cutters in preparation for a throw, but is surprised to hear a loud metal clunk.  She lifts her head up, able to see now that her eyes have adjusted to the sudden light, and can’t stop herself from snorting.

“You’re one ugly robot,” she observes.

“I take offense to that,” the robot replies.  “You gonna come out here, or do I need to tase you?”

“No, no, I’m coming.”  It would be easy to take out the robot and head back to the farm, but there’s a chance that that would lead these people back to her kids.  She holds her hands up in the air and lets the robot herd her past the gate, noting that there are several massive satellite dishes in the area.  The robot appears to be leading her to a smaller building in the center, where there are lights on; they weren’t visible from the front gate.  Clever.

“Nice throw, by the way,” the robot notes.  “Might’ve killed a human.”

Natasha says nothing.

Apart from hallway lights, the facility is mostly dark.  Natasha starts cataloguing exits and possible weapons before she realizes what she’s doing.  It’s not unlike the old S.H.I.E.L.D. facility she and Steve once broke into; the metaphor is only strengthened when the robot takes her to an elevator near the back of the building, after deliberately trying to lead Natasha in a nonsensical path through the building to try and confuse her.  She keeps her hands up the entire way; she doesn’t particularly want to get pumped with electricity.

She’s taken to an old storage room, where the robot tells her to sit.

“How did you find this place?”

“A ghost told me.”

“Lady, if you don’t take this seriously—“

Natasha scowls.  “I _am_ taking this seriously, tin-can.  I have a life outside of wherever this place is, and I plan on getting back to it one of these days.  So if you can tell me what I have to do so that I’ll be sent on my way, that’d be great.”

“No outsider has come here since the last Avenger died.”

The last Avenger.  Natasha laughs.

“So you believe in them?” she asks.  “That’s a fucking first.  But if you really did, then you’d know who I am.”

The robot actually sighs.  “I don’t know who you are, that’s kind of the point of this conversation.”

Without warning, Natasha grabs what looks like a file from a nearby shelf and hurdles it at the glowing exit sign near the door.  The file burrows in the glass with a loud crack; both she and the robot watch as the sign flickers once before going dark.  She turns back to the robot, wondering how close it is to tasing her again. 

“Take a wild guess,” she says lowly.

Before the robot can answer, the door opens.  Without the light of the exit sign, she can’t see who it is, but she can’t find it in herself to care right now.  She’s angry— really, truly angry for the first time in years, angry because she’s been reminded of what she is, and for a brief moment she almost wishes that the robot were a human so that she could have the satisfaction of seeing fear on their face when they realized—

“Natasha?”

Low.  Rough.  _Familiar._

Shit.

Natasha doesn’t want to look, but she can’t stop herself from turning her head.  Silver and black curls.  Fidgeting hands.  A sweater that’s far too large for him to be wearing.  She feels like someone has just dumped a bucket of ice into her bloodstream, and she’s aware that she is gaping openly at him.  It’s been so damn long since she had anyone familiar besides her kids, but she never, not in a million years, would have expected this.  He was the one that she lost first, after all.

For his part, Bruce looks just as dumbfounded as she feels.  He looks the same— maybe a little older, a little wiser, but the same.  Natasha knows what she looks like— an old leather jacket and a pair of whited out jeans, along with heavy work boots and calloused hands.  She shaved her head a few months ago, so her hair isn’t even down past her ears.  She looks like a god damn farmer, and she’s not sure what is more surprising to Bruce— that, or that she’s even alive at all.

Natasha has to force herself not to shake.  She swallows before speaking, her voice just as hoarse as his had been.

“You’d better start talking.”

* * *

Bruce doesn’t talk.

Instead, he hands her off to a Professor Brand, who seems happy to show her around the facility and doesn’t have a reaction to finding out that she’s another Avenger.  She’s absorbs his explanation about how the world is dying (like she doesn’t already know), feeling numb on the inside, but unable to stop herself from feeling a twinge of pain when she realizes what it all means for Tom and Murph. 

It’s that thought that spurs her to get her shit together.

“Somehow I don’t think you’d be telling me this if you didn’t have a plan,” she remarks.

Professor Brand smiles.  “Astute as the Black Widow was always said to be.  I must say, I think it’s rather unfortunate that you didn’t find us— or we didn’t find you— sooner, Ms. Romanoff.  We would have been fortunate to have you helping us.”

Natasha looks around the room.  There are scribbles of white all over the chalkboard, and books piled haphazardly on the desk.  Her environment is more along the lines of weapons galleries or briefing rooms. 

“I’m not much of a scientist,” she says. 

“On the contrary,” replies Brand.  “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.  You were able to pilot a Quinjet, before the Blight came.  You had to be smart enough to hack into mainframes.  That certainly puts you on the level of some of the people here.  Maybe not Dr. Banner’s level, but then there aren’t many who have ever been able to match him.  Or Tony Stark.”

“Tony funded this place.”

“Right again, Ms. Romanoff.”  Brand beams.  “Although Dr. Foster was the one who spearheaded the research team.”  He gestures to a picture sitting on the wall, one that Natasha recognizes from the few times that she was able to meet her (usually courtesy of Thor).  “She was my mentor.  She is greatly missed here.”

Professor Brand continues speaking, but Natasha only half-listens.  She knows what kind of place this is.  She also knows that it will only lead to broken hearts, in the end.  Humanity’s dying breath, a last attempt to preserve themselves.  ‘Do not go gentle into that good night’.  Words that she’s lived by for too long, at any rate. 

Natasha has kids.  That’s a statement that she never thought she would be able to apply to herself, but it’s the truth.  She has kids, and she’s not going to leave them on some idealistic errand to try and find a new planet for humanity to live on.  Asgard can’t help them.  Most other alien races aren’t interested in helping them.  She’s old, and she’s tired, and if people are going to start suffocating soon anyway, she might as well join them. 

Natasha doesn’t answer when Brand tries to ask her if she’s willing to help.  He takes her to the board room to ask her the same question, as though being surrounded by N.A.S.A.’s leaders will make any difference.  Bruce is in one of the seats; the sight does nothing but piss Natasha off, wondering how long he’s been hiding underground.  Professor Brand and his daughter are making their case as compelling as they can, but the rest of the board remain silent while they wait for her to respond.

“I’ve never piloted one of these Rangers,” she points out.

“There will be a simulator test a few weeks before our departure,” Amelia Brand says.  “But my father and Dr. Banner have full confidence in your abilities.”

“I don’t see how you can realistically expect me to leave Earth with a crew of people who, honestly, have stars in their eyes on the off chance that we _might_ find a planet capable of sustaining human life on the other side of a fucking wormhole.  No offense to any of you, I’m sure you’re decent people,” she says, when Dr. Doyle opens his mouth to protest, “But reality is never what you expect it to be.  You’ve all been cooped up underground for years.”

“That’s precisely why they need you, Ms. Romanoff.”  Professor Brand remains unfazed.  “At any rate, there aren’t many people who understand the reality of life better than Dr. Banner, so you won’t be alone in keeping an eye on them.”

It takes a few moments for the implications of that statement to hit Natasha, but when it does she starts laughing harder than she’s ever laughed before.  All of the board members, even Professor Brand, start looking uncomfortable when she doesn’t stop, and Bruce begins his usual habit of fidgeting in his chair.  She looks at him; to his credit, he doesn’t avoid her gaze, even though he obviously wants to.  She can still remember a time when he would’ve returned it with warmth.

“ _You’re_ going with them?” she asks incredulously.  “You.  You didn’t even want to go on a giant helicarrier, and you expect me to believe that you suddenly want to go out into space?”

“Ms. Romanoff—“ begins Amelia.

“Do you remember when Thanos attacked Earth?” Natasha asks.  “Maybe you don’t, if you were hiding well enough.  We sent out a worldwide signal to every super-powered being we could get ahold of, asking— no, _begging_ — for them to come and help us.  We were fighting a giant alien titan with world-destroying powers.  Back then it seemed like the closest to the apocalypse that we were ever going to get.”  As she speaks, she’s moving closer to Bruce, until she’s leaning over him, bracing her hands on the arms of his chair.  “You would’ve been a real help back then.  But you didn’t show.  Now the world’s ending again, and there’s no one to fight, and suddenly you want to help save it?”

“With all due respect, Romanoff,” says Romilly, “but you and the other Avengers did succeed without Dr. Banner’s help.”

Natasha doesn’t look away from Bruce.  “Yeah, and maybe if he’d been there Vision wouldn’t have been torn limb-from-limb.  I wouldn’t have had to stop Wanda from trying to kill herself—“

“Are you done?” Bruce asks.

Natasha blinks and observes— there are the beginnings of green appearing in his eyes, and his hands are clenched into fists. 

“Yeah,” she says, straightening up.  “I’m done here.  I’m leaving.”  She pauses as she heads for the door.  “And if your friend— T.A.R.S., was it?— tries to stop me, I’ll fucking dismember him.”

She doesn’t slam the door on her way out, but with the ringing silence she leaves behind, she might as well have.

* * *

“Grandpa didn’t know where you went,” Murph says.  She’s finished her math homework already and has curled up on the couch with another one of Natasha’s old books.  “Tom said that you probably just went into town for something, but I told him that you always say where you’re going.  Did it have to do with the ghost?”

Natasha takes a sip of her tea.  “I was digging up some old ghosts,” she admits.  “Had nothing to do with _your_ ghost, Murph.”

Murph nods.  It pains Natasha, a bit, at just how accepting Murph is that that’s the truth.  “I was thinking earlier.  What if Dad’s the ghost?”

Natasha never met Joseph Cooper.  He must’ve been quite a man for Clint’s granddaughter to want to marry him, but Nate’s told her a few things— he was restless, inquisitive, and frustrated before he died.  If anyone were to come back as a ghost, especially if it was to see his daughter again, it wouldn’t surprise Natasha if he was the one.  She goes out and visits his grave, right alongside Erin (Erin, little Erin, who she held once before she had to leave again), and never says anything to either of them.  Words are usually wasted on the dead.

“I dunno,” Natasha replies.  “I’m not exactly an expert on the supernatural, Murph.”

“I wonder if there were ghosts in Asgard,” Murph says.  “Asgardians had magic.  Why wouldn’t they have ghosts too?”

“We just have to keep wondering, kiddo.”  Natasha berates herself, but she’s not interested in having this conversation with Murph right now.  She goes to the kitchen instead, leaving Murph to bury herself in her book, and grabs a beer before heading out to the porch to watch the sun go down.  Cooper seemed like the kind of father to take his kids outside at night and point out the constellations to them, but Natasha isn’t Joseph Cooper.

Tom joins her after dinner.

“Hey, Nat,” he says.  “Murph said you were out here.”

Natasha pats the seat next to her.  “Something on your mind, Tom?”

“Murph started talking about Dad at dinner,” he states.  He shifts uncomfortably.  “She was too young to really remember him when he died, but I think she’s got this idealistic picture of him.  Like he was the perfect dad, all the time, and if he hadn’t died, maybe we would’ve been happier.”

Natasha looks down.  What the hell is she supposed to say to that?

“He wasn’t,” Tom continues.  He, too, is staring at his shoes.  “Perfect, I mean.  Daydreamed a lot.  Took me to school and got into fights with the teachers.  I mean, he was _Dad_ , he was good, but… yeah.  Hated farming with a passion.  Sorry, Nat, what I’m trying to say is… I feel like Murph doesn’t understand what you do for us, and I get frustrated sometimes.”

“Murph didn’t react well to finding out that her mom wasn’t her real mom,” Natasha says.  “It’s fine, Tom.  It’s normal.  She’s mostly gotten over it.  It’s normal for her to miss her father, to hope that maybe he’s somehow still in her life.”

“You never gave up on us,” Tom says.  “Sometimes I think Dad did.”

Natasha snorts.  “From what I’ve heard about your dad, he would’ve been the last person in the world to give up on you.  Nah, sometimes things just… don’t work out the way we want them to.  If they did…”

She doesn’t mean to trail off, but trail off she does.  Tom prompts her to continue a couple times, but she can never bring herself to answer, and after a few moments he goes back inside to get ready for bed.  She finishes her beer and almost falls asleep on the bench, but she’s started back into wakefulness when there’s the rumbling of an engine in the distance.

Natasha stands, beer bottle dangling loosely from her grip.  Probably the neighbors, coming to ask if they can borrow one of the tractors.  It’s a common enough occurrence, and Natasha’s tractors have a reputation for being sturdy.  As the vehicle approaches, however, it quickly becomes clear that it’s not one of the usual pickups that the other farmers in the area drive; instead, it’s a dusty red Jeep. 

Professor Brand steps out from the passenger seat; Bruce exits from the driver’s side.

“I’ve always wanted to say this,” Natasha says.  She tightens her grip on the bottle.  “Get the hell off my lawn.”

Bruce, to his credit, gives as good as he gets when he surveys the moat of dust around her house.  “Yeah, this is a lawn.”

“What do you want?”

Before Professor Brand can answer, however, Murph comes out the front door.

“Nat?” she calls, hurrying over.  Natasha closes her eyes, briefly, not wanting to see the looks on either of their faces.  “Who’re they?”

“Murph, go back inside.”

“Are you gonna fight them off?”

“ _Murph._ ”

Natasha is about to wrap her arm around Murph’s shoulders and guide her back through the front door.  Bruce and Professor Brand will go back to the hole that they crawled out of, and let her go back to her life of farming and teaching her kids how to defend themselves and making sure that Nate doesn’t lose his mind in his old age.  She’ll get back to that, if she can just—

“We’re N.A.S.A.,” says Professor Brand.

Well, there goes that plan.

* * *

“N.A.S.A.”

“Murph…”

“You went to N.A.S.A., and you didn’t tell me?”

“For the record, I didn’t know it was going to be N.A.S.A.,” Natasha argues, but Murph just folds her arms.  “It could’ve been a Hydra base, for all I knew!”

“You always say that Hydra bases don’t exist anymore.”

Nate, Professor Brand, and Bruce are in the kitchen, either talking or sitting through the most awkward silence of their lives.  Tom is outside, practicing his fighting forms (Natasha thinks that the two men are making him nervous), and Murph is pouting at her while they sit in the living room and she tries to explain why there was no possible way for her to take Murph with her on her little journey.  For one thing, she would’ve learned that the world is ending.  For another, Natasha is determined to keep her kids protected from the distant remnants of her old life.

Not so distant anymore, if Dr. Banner’s presence in her kitchen is any indication.

“Can I at least listen while you talk to them?” Murph pleads.

Aware that Murph will just eavesdrop from the top of the stairs if she says no, Natasha caves.  Murph exclaims in triumph before hurrying into the kitchen, bouncing up and down in her chair.  Natasha doesn’t sit down, folding her arms in a gesture that she realizes is not unlike Murph’s.  Professor Brand looks as unflappable as before, but Bruce’s eyes keep darting between her and Murph.  She can practically hear what’s going on in his head.

“You coming here isn’t going to change my answer,” she says.  “You’re welcome to stay the night, but after that I expect you to be on your way.”

“Natasha, we need you on this.”

“’Need’ is a bit of a stretch, Banner.”

Nate startles when she says his name, looking at her with wide eyes before he shifts his gaze to Bruce like he’s seeing a ghost.  In a lot of ways, he is.  All of it is suddenly too much for Natasha to take in, and she finds herself rubbing at her temples, feeling a headache coming on.  Murph is staring at her with a weird look on her face, like she’s trying to puzzle something out.  Suddenly, her daughter stands.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” she announces.  “Love you, Nat.”

Natasha nods, grateful and (at the same time) annoyed at herself.  “I love you too, Murph.  Bright and early for school tomorrow, okay?”

“Got it.”  Murph smirks at her from the stairs.  “Oh, and swear jar.  From earlier.”

“Go to bed, you little miscreant.”

Her daughter leaves behind a slightly stunned silence.  Predictably, Professor Brand is the one to break it.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Romanoff,” he says.  “We were unaware that you had children.”

“They’re not mine,” she says automatically.  It’s a lie; they are hers, just not that way.  Professor Brand gives her a piteous smile that makes her insides want to shrivel up.  She plunks down in Murph’s vacant seat, suddenly exhausted and wishing that she could go to bed herself.  For once, she barely notices when she gets dust all over her palms as she lays them on the table.  Bruce is watching her like she’s a bomb that will go off at any moment; it bothers her that Nate is giving her the same look.

“So now you get it,” she mumbles.  “I can’t leave them.  It’s just not happening, folks.”

“Far from it,” Professor Brand says.  “I’d say this is even more reason for you to help us.”

“Bullshit,” snaps Natasha.

“Pardon me, Ms. Romanoff, but you don’t seem like the type to let your children die.”

“I rescind my previous statement that you could spend the night.  Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Natasha,” Nate warns.

“No, Nate,” she snarls.  “Not this time.  You two don’t get to do this.  You don’t get to guilt me into going along with your crazy plan by using my own kids to guilt trip me.  I’m not leaving them.”

“You wouldn’t be leaving them,” points out Brand.  “You’d be saving them.”

Natasha feels herself start to tremble.  She hurries outside before they can say anything else, moving around the house and huddling against the back wall, trying to control her breathing.  She starts seeing flashes of everyone who died while she lived, and can’t quite stop the sob that escapes her lips.  It’s too much— too much when they’re telling her that her kids (the only people she has left to live for) are going to die because of her.  She thinks of Murph and Tom sleeping upstairs, and thinks about a time when the three of them went to a baseball game together and laughed all day, and she feels her breathing begin to slow.

There’s a crunching noise as someone makes there way over to her, and sits a few feet away from her.  She knows, without looking, who it is.

“Professor Brand means well,” Bruce begins.  “But I don’t think he understands.  Not like we do.”

Natasha bites back a nasty retort.  “Why’d he bring you along?”

“He thought I had the best chance of convincing you.”

“Right.”  Natasha stares at the scuffles in the dust where Tom was practicing earlier.  “You.”

“Me,” Bruce agrees.  “Natasha, I’m not… I’m not looking for forgiveness, or anything.  But I do believe that this mission is the best chance we have of saving humanity.  And you’re right, if push comes to shove, we probably don’t need you.  The other pilots haven’t actually been out in space, but their simulator scores were phenomenal, and they’re good people.  I can keep them in check, keep them from making reckless decisions.”

There’s a pause, during which Natasha lays her head on her knees.

“You don’t have to leave your kids,” Bruce continues.  There’s an ache in his voice that she pretends not to hear.  “But if you were to ask me if we have a better chance of finishing this mission if you were to come with, my answer would be yes.  It would be exponentially better.  And… for what it’s worth, if we do this right, they might be able to live long enough to see humanity escape from Earth.”

He stands up after that and leaves her to her thoughts.

* * *

The first thing that Murph does after she tells her is slam the door in her face. 

Natasha’s left standing there with her mouth hanging open, unable to think of what to say.  Next to her, Tom shuffles in place.  Feeling like she’s moving in slow motion, Natasha turns, ruffles his hair, and heads downstairs.  Nate’s nowhere to be found, but then she remembers that he headed into town on an errand just after she broke the news to him and Tom.  Now she has an angry eleven-year-old upstairs, and she has no idea what to do with her.

“You gonna be alright?” she asks Tom. 

“Uh-huh.”  She knows a lie when she sees one, but Natasha lets it slide this time.  She claps him on the shoulder once before climbing the stairs again, hoping that she knows what the right thing to say to Murph is. 

Bruce and Professor Brand had left that morning, once they had her answer and her assurance that she would be making the trip to the N.A.S.A. facility the next day.  She hadn’t made eye contact with Bruce in that time, but Professor Brand had looked both happy and saddened by her answer.  Natasha has never felt as old as she did in that moment, and so unlike the Black Widow that she used to be.  For example: the Black Widow would not be trying to find a way to say goodbye to her adopted daughter before heading out on a mission to save the human race.  She would’ve left— no questions asked, no looking back.

Natasha wishes that Sam were here.  Sam would know what to say.

She encounters resistance when she tries to open Murph’s door— her dresser is blocking it.  She still manages to edge inside once she’s pushes it far enough, making her way to Murph’s bed, still feeling like she’s walking in slow-mo.  She sits on the edge of the bed.

“Shouldn’t you be on your way already?”  Murph’s voice is cold.

“Tomorrow,” Natasha says.  “Tomorrow I’m heading to base, then doing a few days of training, then I’m going into space.”

“You’re leaving us,” mumbles Murph.  “You’re leaving us, just like Mom and Dad did.  You said you’d always be there to take care of us, but _you’re leaving us_.”

“Hey— hey,” Natasha says, placing a hand firmly on Murph’s shoulder.  “I am _not_ leaving you.  Not forever, anyway.  Look at me, Murph.  Look at me, please?”

It takes a bit of nudging, but Murph finally moves her head so that her eyes are peering up at Natasha from her blanket.  There are tear tracks down the sides of her face, leading into her hair, and Natasha can’t quite stop herself from brushing them away.  Murph sits up a bit more at the gesture, wrapping her arms around Natasha’s waist and sobbing into her chest.

“You said you wouldn’t leave us,” she cries.  “You promised!”

“And I’m keeping my promise,” Natasha swears.  It’s stupid— she knows that she might not be able to— but she says it anyway, for herself as much as Murph.  “But right now, I need to you listen carefully, Murph.  Down in the kitchen, under the sink, there’s a file.  It’s a very important file, but it’s not really something that’s meant to be read by an eleven-year-old.  I’ve already told your brother about it; when you get to be his age, if you want to, then you can take it out and read it.”

“Why?”

“You’ll understand when you do.”  Natasha rummages around in her pocket.  “Here’s the other thing.  It’s an old communicator that I… that my mother gave to me.  I want you to have it.  Maybe I’ll find some way to talk to you through it.”

Murph sniffs again.  “That’s not very science-y.”

“I’m not the most science-y person,” Natasha admits.  “That was always your job, kiddo.  Look, Murph, I have to be honest with you— I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone.  The way time works out in space… it’s not always clear how these things will work out.”  Not that it would matter for her, anyway.  Even if their time was completely in sync with Earth’s time, she would still look mostly the same when she got back. 

“But you’ll come back?” Murph presses. 

“Yeah.  Of course I will.”

 _Look at you, Romanoff,_ she says to herself when Murph hugs her goodbye the next day.  _Still lying for a living._

* * *

“Who’s ready to become a part of my robot colony?”

“Over my dead body, tin can,” Natasha mutters.

“That can be arranged, Romanoff.”

“This is getting a little too familiar for comfort.”

“Relax.  The Ultron fiasco was decades ago.  If I start sounding like James Spader, then you can be worried.”

“How the hell does he even know who James Spader is?” Natasha asks Doyle.

Doyle shrugs.  “Sorry about that.  I gave him a humor setting.  He thinks it relaxes us.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bruce assures him.  “Natasha and I just aren’t used to artificial intelligences that don’t sound like English butlers.”

“Dr. Banner, I’m wounded,” T.A.R.S. answers.  “We’ve worked together for years.”

“Zip it people,” Natasha orders.  “We’re coming up on the Endurance.”

It’s a little surreal for all of them, being out here.  Apart from the sun and the Earth below, there’s nothing but blackness in all directions.  It makes Natasha feel a little bit cold, knowing that there’s barely anything between her and oblivion.  She’s been sent into danger before, but never into an environment that made her feel so small. 

In other ways, it’s a relief.  She feels like she’s left the weight of her past back on Earth, and while the thought of her kids will always be on her mind, the rest of it— the Avengers, Clint, all the people she’s lost over the years— is still down on the surface, looking up at the sky to see where she’s gone.  Bruce is the only one here who is a reminder, but he seems as eager to not bring their past up as she is.

Apart from their conversation at her farm, neither of them have made any attempt to speak to one another except on business.  She is more frigid with him than she is with the other crew members; she likes Romilly, Doyle and Brand.  T.A.R.S. should get on her nerves, but she enjoys the back-and-forth banter that they’ve established.  Bruce, however… Bruce is always either looking at her like he wants to say something damning, or else not looking at her at all.  Which is fine; she’s far from ready to talk things out with him.

The two of them have to spend the first two years together while the others sleep.  Cryo is too much of a risk for Bruce; if he sleeps too long, the Hulk might take it as a threat.  Natasha is the only logical choice to keep an eye on him.  Thank god Professor Brand gave her old crossword puzzles to do.

Locking onto the Endurance and setting course for Saturn goes off without a hitch.  The others all putter around, prepping themselves for their long nap; Natasha curls up in her bunk, listening to the low murmur of voices as they wish one another well.  She listens in on Brand’s conversation with Bruce about the three planets that they’re hoping to visit, hearing the pause in her voice when she mentions Edmunds and making a note to ask T.A.R.S. about it later.  Bruce bids Brand good night last, before he shuffles away somewhere else in the ship.  There is absolute silence after that, one that Natasha isn’t sure she welcomes.

Eventually she makes her way to the video recorder.

“Hey guys,” she says.  “Murph, Tom.  You’d better not be causing trouble for your grandpa, or I’ll know about it.

“We’re heading to Saturn now.  It’ll be about… two years?  Neither myself nor Dr. Banner can go into cryosleep during that time, but we’ll stick it out.  Play Solitaire, or something.  I hope that both of you are still practicing, and remember the rule.  Got it?  I love you guys.  Take care of yourselves.”

She switches off the recorder, aware that Bruce is behind her.

“You wanna use it?” she asks, jerking her head towards it.  He’s caught her at a moment of vulnerability, and she doesn’t like it.

“No, I’m… that’s…”  He trails off.  “I wanted to talk.”

“Talk,” Natasha repeats.  “Like, ‘Talk’ with a capital T?  We’ve never been good at that.”  But she follows him to the front of the Endurance anyway, grabbing herself a protein bar as she goes.  Bruce is here, ostensibly, to aid Brand with the biotechnology aspect of the mission.  He’s checked the eggs three times already, as though making sure that they’re still there.  Sometimes, when he and Brand start having more extensive discussions, they spout out scientific jargon that Natasha can barely wrap her head around.  He seems to be pretty good friends with Brand, although the rest of the crew mostly avoid him.

“What’s there to talk about?” Natasha asks, once they’re both sitting down.

“How long?”

“How long what?”

Natasha knows exactly what he’s referring to.  But she doesn’t give any ground; he tries again, asks her similar questions for about an hour (what happened to everyone?  Is anyone left?  How has she stayed alive all these years?  Is she alright?) before he gives up.  Natasha gives him somewhat of a mean smile when he stands up and wanders away to another part of the ship; if he thinks he’s going to get her to open up to him, he’d better think twice.

He comes over to her bunk just before she’s about to go to sleep.

“You know, in a lot of ways I haven’t forgiven you, either,” he says lowly, and a chills settles into Natasha’s spine.  She pretends to be asleep, keeping her breathing even and slow, until footsteps indicate that he’s leaving.

It’s going to be a long two years.

* * *

There is no way to describe how time only seems to crawl by at a snail’s pace.  There are a few months when they’re passing by Mars, and later Saturn, during which Natasha takes her ancient iPod out and stares out the viewport for hours on end, arms wrapped around her knees, but mostly there’s just blackness.  She spends most of her spare time reading through the research notes that they’ve got on board— trying to wrap her head around some of the physics surrounding the wormhole.  She never is able to understand most of Bruce and Professor Brand’s notes, but she reads them anyway.  She wants to save her eBook for when she really needs a distraction.

That day comes when she receives the first batch of videos.

Bruce is somewhere further back in the Endurance, probably going through the embryos again and making sure that they’re all healthy.  Natasha opens her video log and feels her heart rate pick up at Tom fizzles into view.

“Hey, Nat,” he says.  “Just checking in with you.  Uh… things are pretty good here.  I’ve been helping Grandpa with the harvest, so it’s been kinda tough, getting to school every day but I’m still learning a lot.  I might be able to get into some of the more advanced agriculture courses next year if I work hard enough at it.  There’s… not a whole lot else to tell.  Murph and I have been practicing, like you said.  Murph’s started researching martial arts on her own, which I told her was probably a bad idea, but y’know… Murph doesn’t really listen to me.  She doesn’t get into fights anymore, which is good.

“Professor Brand visits pretty often.  He brought the truck back— thanks for that, by the way.  Murph keeps bugging me to let her drive it, but I told her you’d have my head if I did.  Anyway, he’s been tutoring Murph.  She keeps going on and on about formulas and space at dinner.  Grandpa and I have no idea what she’s talking about, but she seems happy enough.”

Something wet drips onto Natasha’s arm, startling her.  She wipes furiously at her cheeks.

“Anyway, I’ll sign off.  You probably want to hear from the others.”

Nate is the next one.

“Natasha, it’s been a hell of a few months,” he sighs.  “Hope you’re doing alright…”

He doesn’t give her as much of a rundown as Tom does, but he does tell her that Murph has been withdrawing a bit.  He doesn’t know if it’s because of Natasha or if there’s some other reason.  Natasha hopes that Professor Brand hasn’t already told Murph about the impending end of the world; Murph has enough to deal with as it is. 

Her daughter is last to make a video.

“Hi, Nat,” she says.  She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, then: “Professor Brand’s been teaching me about relativity.  I did the calculations from here to Saturn and got back two years, so I went looking around in his desk for his research papers and did the calculations from the wormhole to the three planets on the other side.  I think there’s about three more years, but then Professor Brand caught me and he explained that the data from the other side of the wormhole was just guesses, so we really have no idea.”

Murph looks down at her hands, fidgeting.

“Grandpa says that you’re a brave woman, so of course you’re doing this,” Murph continues.  “But I miss you, Nat.  I want you come home.”

“I can’t, kiddo,” Natasha whispers.

“I don’t— I don’t— bye.”

The recording ends abruptly, before Natasha can even start to process what Murph’s said.  She manages to choke out a quick message for the three of them, waiting for her back on Earth, before she grabs her eReader and hides in Brand’s bunk to read Harry Potter; Bruce is less likely to look for her there.  He hasn’t tried to talk to her about the Ultron fiasco, or the years after, since his first disastrous attempt.  The most he’s done is ask for her help with making sure they’re on the right course.  She suspects that he doesn’t really need help and just wants company.

C.A.S.E. comes up with something for her to do— he starts showing her around the ship, helping her understand how it’s built and even to make some small repairs when needed.  Natasha thinks she could’ve been an engineer, once, but they always thought it was best to leave Stark to that sort of thing.  Bruce doesn’t comment when she shows up at the embryo chambers to fix a coolant leak, C.A.S.E. in tow.

It feels like an eternity, but two years somehow slide by this way, until the day that they have a stunning view of Saturn’s rings and there’s a beeping that indicates that those in cryosleep are on the verge of waking up.

Doyle is the first to emerge, looking woozy but none the worse for wear.  Bruce helps him to his bunk and gives him in a blanket while Natasha waits for Romilly to wake up, and does the same for him (although he spends a good long while huddled over the Endurance’s toilet, unsure if he’s going to throw up or not).  Brand is last to emerge, and she clutches on Natasha’s arm a little longer than is necessary before she goes to put on her spacesuit.

“Wormhole in three hours,” Natasha calls through the intercom, heading up to the front of the ship.  Romilly is the only one there.

“Hey,” he greets her.  “I don’t know how you two managed to spend two years like this.  I don’t think I could’ve handled it.”

“We found things to do,” Natasha replies.

“I guess.”  Romilly is not the type to beat around the bush.  She wonders what’s really on his mind.  “I mean… was the other reason that the two of you didn’t use cryo… does it have to do with…?”

He looks sheepish for asking, but Natasha decides to throw him a bone anyway.

“Yeah, time doesn’t seem to ravage the two of us quite the same way it does to everyone else.”  It’s hard to keep the bitterness out of her tone as she thinks of the number of times she wished it were not so, but Romilly seems to hear it anyway.  Natasha has kept herself alive through a combination of whatever the hell the Red Room injected her with and sheer force of will, but some days she will see a weapon and only think of a way out, a way to escape.

“You were there for New York?”

“Yeah.  That was a hard day.”

“It must’ve been terrifying,” Romilly remarks.

Natasha chuckles.  “Believe it or not, there are worse things than an army of aliens invading one of the most populous cities in the world.”  She angles her body away from his, just a bit, so that he can see that she’s putting an end to the conversation.

The others eventually join them in the cockpit, where Natasha begins to approach the wormhole.  She controls her breathing as she approaches, not letting the distortion get to her head and directing their ship into it with steady hands.  The Endurance is rocked by the Bulk; she lets go of the stick, for a moment, slightly unnerved at how she has zero control over this part of their trip. 

“Banner, what—?”

Natasha looks behind her to where Bruce is sitting.  He’s reaching out, looking half-mesmerized, and his hand is— it’s—

Natasha’s attention is jerked back to the ship as they emerge from the Bulk, like a sailboat emerging from a storm.  There is more blackness, but there is also an unfamiliar sun in the distance.  Natasha takes a deep breath and guides the ship on its way while the others argue with Bruce behind her.

“What _was_ that?”

“I don’t know, but it was— it didn’t feel _bad_ —“

“Bad or not, sticking your hand into distortions is not something you just do, Dr. Banner!”

“I would have,” Dr. Brand says.  Her voice is flippant, but there’s an undercurrent of anger there.  “You don’t think, maybe, it was _them_?  The least we could do for them is acknowledge them, after everything they’ve done for us.  The first handshake, or something.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce murmurs.  “It felt familiar.  It was nice.”

Natasha cuts the engines, letting the Endurance drift while they plan on where to go next.  Romilly and Doyle give up on trying to convince Bruce that he’s insane and head into the back of the ship.  They’re followed by Brand, who gives Bruce a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and a sympathetic smile.  Natasha stands up from her seat and accidentally makes eye contact with Bruce, who’s been watching her.

“Murph has a ghost in her room,” is all Natasha says before she, too, leaves the cockpit.

* * *

Natasha puts her foot down at the word ‘Gargantua’.  Just the name itself is ominous; if they’re going down on a planet so close to it, then she’s going to take every precaution necessary.  It doesn’t help when she finds out about the time slippage and ends up arguing with Doyle for half an hour about the merits of time versus fuel, until Brand finally uses short, sharp words to side with her and point out that yes, time is a resource (especially if they’re going to pull off Plan A). 

They bid Romilly goodbye before detaching the Ranger, Natasha piloting and Doyle being her copilot.  C.A.S.E. doesn’t talk much, and Natasha finds herself missing T.A.R.S. dry wit (yes, the clunky robot had wit) as they make the several-hour-long journey down to the planet’s surface.  She likes to think that she makes a smooth landing down onto the water; judging by the faces of the others, they disagree.

“If you’re not about to throw up, then get out there,” Natasha snaps.  “We don’t have all day.”

She dislikes waiting in the cockpit while the others go exploring another planet (and this would be a ‘holy shit’ moment if she hadn’t already been to Asgard), but this place is giving her a bad feeling.  Why is the water so shallow?  Why is there no land in sight?  Unless she counts those mountains in the distance, but there’s something off about those as well.

“We found the beacon,” Brand announces.

“Alright, good,” Natasha answers.  “Get Miller out, get her data, and let’s go.”

“No, I mean we _only_ found her beacon.”

Natasha freezes.  She looks at the mountains in the distance again.

“I can see the wreckage,” Bruce is saying.  “If we can get to it, we can at least get her data before we go.”

“Where is it?” asks Doyle.

“Towards the mountains.”

Brand is already following him, wading quickly through the water and even surpassing him.  Natasha can’t seem to stop staring at the waves; a thought strikes her, and she heads for the back hatch.  “I don’t think those are mountains,” she explains as she goes.

“What do you mean, those aren’t mountains?” Doyle asks.

“This is an ocean.  They’re waves.”

“What the— at that distance?  You’ve gotta be kidding me.  How long do we have?”

“A while, yet,” Natasha says.  “That one’s moving away from us.”  She steps out the back hatch, feeling her jaw unhinge as she beholds the behemoth approaching them.  “ _Fuck._ Guys, we need to go.  Now.”

“Hang on,” calls Brand.  “We’ve almost got to Miller’s data.”

“Fuck the data!” shouts Natasha, watching as the wave draws closer.  “Get back here.  Drop whatever you’re doing and run.”

“But the—“

“Banner, Brand, do as I say or I swear to god, I’ll fucking—“

If Natasha thought things were going to hell before, then she had no idea.  Brand suddenly lets out an alarmed yell, and then Bruce is shouting into his transmitter and Doyle’s commanding C.A.S.E. to go get Brand.  They’re all a mix of panicked shouts and clumsy movements, from what Natasha can see.  She hurries back into the cockpit to see what’s taking the others, and beholds Banner trying to get Brand out from underneath a heavy piece of rubble.

“Go, go!” Brand shouts at Bruce.  “I’m not gonna make it!”

“You’re making it whether you like it or not,” Natasha snaps.  “Doyle, come on.”

She looks at Bruce, struggling to follow C.A.S.E. (who is carrying Brand), and her heart sinks.  She runs back to the hatch to help Doyle, then Brand inside, and then closes her eyes and shuts the hatch.

“What’re you doing?” Brand asks wildly, rounding on her.  “What the _hell_ are you—?”

“Shut the hell up,” snarls Natasha.  She tries to get them off the ground, but it’s too late; the engines flood, and the next thing they know, they’re been swept up the massive wave like an ant in a thunderstorm.  Natasha catches sight of Bruce in his suit, struggling for a moment before the water throws him violently under.  She almost hates herself for a moment, but she knows that if she’d waited then they would all be dead.  She soon forgets everything except the struggle to keep herself from hitting her head too hard, feeling her stomach do a loop-di-loop as they rush down the other side of the wave.  Like a roller coaster.  Natasha thinks she might be the one who gets sick this time.

Eventually the Ranger stops moving, and Natasha frantically starts to hammer at controls, trying to get the ship up and running.  “C.A.S.E.?”

“The engines are too waterlogged.”

Natasha, for once not at all in control of her emotions, lets out a strangled yell before grabbing one of the ration packs and flinging it at the wall.  Out of the corner of her eye she sees both Brand at Doyle flinch.

“’Not ready for this mission’,” Natasha says.  She sounds like a sarcastic bitch, and she doesn’t care.  “What’d I say, huh?  That you people _are_ too idealistic.  You go running out there and you didn’t come back when I told you to, and then we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

“You just _left_ Dr. Banner,” Brand shoots back.

“Dr. Banner, in this case, is just as much of an idiot as you are,” Natasha retorts, tone icy.  It takes tremendous effort, but she manages not to yell.  “He should’ve started back when he was told to.  He knew that C.A.S.E. would get you out of there.  Now we’re stuck here for who-knows-how-long— maybe an hour, maybe two— but it’ll be decades for everyone we left behind.  Maybe I can get a straight answer when I ask w _hat the hell were you thinking?”_

“I was thinking about the mission!  You just want to go home!”

Natasha smiles, and it feels all wrong.  “There is no mission if we all die before we complete it.”

Brand is about to say something else, but she’s stopped by a hand on her shoulder from Doyle, who just shakes his head.  She’s been crying for a while now, partly out of shock and partly out of fear, but the sob that escapes her mouth now is one of grief because she is just as aware as Natasha of what they’ve lost.  Natasha leans back in her seat, suddenly exhausted and unwilling to continue berating her. 

“Natasha, I’m sorry,” Brand says.  “I made a mistake.”

Natasha waves her away.  There’s a loud roar from outside, and at first she thinks that it’s another wave (which is impossible because the swell won’t catch up for another hour at least) before she recognizes it.  Brand and Doyle both look startled at the noise.

                “What was—“ begins Doyle, but Natasha interrupts him.

“Wait here.”

She climbs out the back hatch, looking around the blue-gray landscape for something green and angry.  Sure enough, a little ways away from the Ranger, the Hulk is splashing through the waves, roaring at the giant one that’s moving away from them.  Natasha already knows what needs to be done at this point, but it’s been so long that she’s not sure the Hulk would even recognize her anymore. 

She wades over anyway, waiting until he sees her and stills.  His eyes narrow a bit, likely trying to figure out who it is under the space suit.  He’s breathing, though, so Natasha carefully removes her helmet, hoping that this will be enough to get him to realize who she is.  He seems to; he moves a bit closer, looking less angry and more curious now.

“Hey, Big Guy,” she says, reciting from memory.  Then, because she figures a bit of improv couldn’t hurt: “Been a while, huh?”

He grunts.  Natasha takes that as a yes.

She reaches out with one hand.  “Sun’s getting real low.”

“Are you crazy?” Brand says into her transmitter.  Natasha ignores her.  She’s heard it all before.

The Hulk doesn’t move a muscle for a long moment, but then he’s reaching out to her, and they perform the usual lullaby flawlessly.  Natasha can’t quite achieve the same effect with her hands still gloved, but she moves her hand slowly and keeps her eyes on him at all times.  The moment seems to take forever, and yet it’s only seconds later that the Hulk is stumbling backwards, shrinking down to Bruce even as she approaches and hoists him up, putting his arm around her shoulders.

Bruce seems barely aware of her at first, but when he realizes what she’s done, he repeats Brand’s question.  “Are you crazy?”

“You know, it’s never been determined.”

“Performing the lullaby?  Out here?”

“Ironically, this is probably the safest place to perform it,” Natasha points out, and Bruce ducks his head.  “I’m sorry, Bruce.  I couldn’t—“

His face softens a bit, and for a moment it feels like they’re back with the other Avengers, before Ultron.  “It’s alright.  I know you couldn’t let Brand and Doyle die, and you knew I wouldn’t die.  It was the only logical choice for you to make.”

That doesn’t make it right, but Natasha decides not to say it out loud.  She thinks that Professor Brand might have had another reason for sending her along, though.  The two of them ignore Doyle and Brand’s gaping looks as she helps him on board the Ranger; they have an extra suit that Bruce changes into at the speed of light (astronaut’s pants are not accommodating to giant green rage monsters).  They manage to escape another wave just in time, Natasha at the controls and piloting them up towards the sky, away from what could have been their watery grave.

* * *

 Romilly is older.  He’s older, and Natasha can barely look at him because she knows that a part of their delay is her fault— for not being careful enough, for not knowing her crew well enough.  She doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that it wouldn’t have mattered if 23 years had actually passed for her (she would’ve looked the same either way).  Brand has a look on her face like her heart’s been broken, and Doyle… well, Doyle just looks shell-shocked. 

She’s the first one to open up her messages.  She watches Tom grow up, watches him looking radiant while he holds his son (her grandson?), and then watching as he recedes inward because of Jesse’s death.  Lois is a beautiful woman— kind and caring.  She listens as Tom recounts Nate’s passing and silently says goodbye to another Barton, as though going to Lila and Cooper’s funerals hadn’t been bad enough. 

Tom signs off, and then— oh, _Murph._

“I swore I wouldn’t,” Murph says.  She must be in her thirties by now (is it greedy of Natasha, to think that Murph looks a bit like her?), and she’s got a wry little smirk on her face.  “I swore I would never send you anything again, and then after you stopped transmitting, well… it got easier to tell myself that it wouldn’t matter if I sent anything or not.”

Natasha feels like an ice sculpture.  She couldn’t move if she wanted to.

“Grandpa told me that he didn’t know how old you really were,” Murph continues.  “It was on the same day that he told me that you were his aunt.  I read your file, and I did my research.  If you really were active during the Cold War, that would make you almost 200 years old.  Right?  Or did you lie about that too?  Is that why you went, Nat?  Because you’re the Black Widow, an Avenger?  Not quite rid of the habit of saving the world.”

Murph laughs.  Natasha hates herself in that moment because— that’s _her_ laugh.  Her ugly one.  “I know maybe I shouldn’t hold it against you for not telling us.  You just wanted us to feel safe, or you wanted us to not judge you for your past.  But what I always wanted to know was… was the woman who raised us— is that really who you _are_ , now?  Or was it all just a lie, just like the rest of your life seemed to be?  Did you ever stop being Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow?  I’m not an idiot; I don’t think you could turn it off no matter how old you got.

Murph’s always been too smart for her own good.  “I’m sorry,” Natasha mouths.

“Today’s my birthday, you know.”  With a start, Natasha realizes that Murph is crying.  “And every year, I think to myself that the best birthday present would be you coming home.  But it just gets harder, every year.  You know, now would be a good time, Nat.  Now would be a _great_ time.”

Murph wiped furiously at her cheeks.  “Just get back here, for fuck’s sake.”

“Swear jar,” Natasha murmurs, just as the screen goes dark.  She gets up and moves like she’s actually her age for once— slowly, with joints that feel stiff and tired.  She doesn’t care about discussing where they go next; all she wants to do now is lie down on her bunk and not get up for at least another twelve hours.  Maybe try not to scream, for the first few. 

 _Why did you go why did you go haven’t you lost_ enough?

“Natasha.”

It’s Bruce.  Of course it is; who else would come find her when they all know what state she’s in?  He kneels down next to her, making her realize that she went down on her knees as soon as she got out of the chair.  He carefully puts a hand on her shoulder, giving her time to move away if she wants to.  At first, Natasha lets him— his hand is warm, and she has so rarely had that, but then her mind gets the better of her and she brushes his hand aside, standing up and moving past him.  Her eyes are dry.  Unlike before, Bruce follows her.

“Natasha,” he says again.

She swallows.  “Where are the others?”

They’re in the middle of the ship, and the others can’t be far.  C.A.S.E. is over in the corner, but no one else is in sight.

“Brand and Doyle are sleeping.”  Bruce, for once, isn’t fidgeting.  “Romilly’s trying to, but I don’t think he will.  T.A.R.S. is in the Ranger, doing what repairs he can.”

Natasha moves automatically in that direction.  “I should help him.”

“No.”

She stiffens. 

“You need to sleep,” Bruce presses.  She’s about to point out that he does too, but then she remembers that he passed out in the Ranger during their return trip.  “This isn’t— it was a long day.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Natasha says.  The emptiness that had taken over after Murph signed off suddenly fills with anger.  “You don’t get to act like you know better, in this case.  You should’ve started heading back to the Ranger when I told you to.  You should’ve told Brand to start heading back, and then we wouldn’t be in this mess.  We’re not questioning whose judgment is superior, here.”

“Whose judgment is superior?” Bruce retorts.  “Yours?  Yeah, your judgment was really sound when you _pushed me off of a cliff_.”

“Maybe if you’d’ve stopped thinking about yourself for five seconds—“

“I was thinking about _you!_ ” he suddenly shouts.  It’s not as startling as his shout in Calcutta, when they first met, but it is disturbing because this one is real.  “I was thinking about how we could live our lives together, if maybe you were willing to let go!  I feel like the fool, because I should’ve known that you never would have left them.  You would find until the end, and then go home, and maybe then you would’ve run with me, but I’m willing to bet that you wouldn’t.”

“Don’t you dare make this about me,” Natasha spits, stepping into his space.  She’s blindly lashing out now, and she doesn’t care.  Tom has just said goodbye to her, and Murph has all but admitted that she hates her, and Nate is dead, and— “I could’ve handled you leaving, Bruce.  I could’ve handled it if you just needed space for a while.  I could have given you that.”

“Then why?” he whispers.  “Why did you do it?”

“I trust the Hulk,” Natasha answers.  “I trust him with my life.  I trust _you_ with my life.  I knew that when push came to shove he would do the right thing, and he did.  Just like I knew that there wasn’t time to talk about it.  Like I knew that it was a betrayal of trust, and I _am_ sorry for that, Bruce.  I’m sorry, but then Crossbones and a whole lot of other shit happened.  Steve died instantly from a bullet to his sternum.  Fury was killed for real in a bombing.  Tony died to try to stop Thanos from opening a portal to our world, only to fail.”

Bruce looks pale now.  Natasha knows she should stop, but she can’t seem to. 

“We called for help.”  Her voice is hollow.  “We begged for anyone, and we got some help from a group that was more closely affiliated with S.H.I.E.L.D.— the leader, her name was Skye, she was incredible— but they were all so damn young, and Thanos picked a lot of them off like flies.  He picked a lot of us off, too.  Vision.  Clint— he bled out under my hands.  Thor and the rest of his people were slaughtered.  We managed to win because Barnes practically dragged Thanos down into hell with him, but it was… it was never— nothing was ever the same.  There was no one to pull us back together, and you weren’t there.  Through any of it.”

“I’m sorry,” is all Bruce seems capable of saying.  He’s crying, now.  Natasha still isn’t.  He really hadn’t known, then, about what happened to the Avengers.  “I’m so sorry, Natasha.”

Natasha shakes her head.  She feels like she’s about to break under the weight of everything— she’s seeing flashes of what she just recounted.  They’re all there again, dying again, laughing with her again, and then choking or crying or dying.  This is too much.  This is too much, and not for the first time Natasha wishes that—

_Just get back here, for fuck’s sake._

Murph is so beautiful, now.  So is Tom.  They’re her children, and they’re beautiful, and they’re living, somewhere out there.  Natasha owes it to them to keep fighting to see their faces at least one more time.  So she straightens up, and she nods at Bruce and she heads for her bunk to get some sleep.  She pauses when she draws level with him and whispers, “I know I said it already, but I’m sorry, too.  If I ever made you think that I saw you as just a weapon.”

He jerks in surprise, but she’s already leaving the room.

* * *

Six of them fly down to Mann’s planet, leaving C.A.S.E. onboard the Endurance up in orbit.  Natasha feels Brand’s gaze on the back of her neck like a laser, but she’s always been good at ignoring people who are staring at her.  She does not want to have to deal with Brand’s heartbreak right now, not when her own has been brought to the forefront of her mind.  She’ll admit that Brand has a point about the social utility of loving someone who’s dead, but other than that there’s no reason to make the trip to Edmunds’ planet when there’s a good chance that Mann’s is habitable.

Natasha is the last to disembark from the Ranger.  Brand hangs back to walk next to her.  The others are hurrying ahead, eager to find Mann’s pod and get him out.  After the disaster that was Miller’s planet, Natasha can hardly blame them.

“I know you’re smart,” Brand says.  “I know you’re the Black Widow, and logic is supposed to be what you use.  What I want to know is if you’ll still be willing to use it if this planet is a bust.  We can’t afford to go to Edmunds’ and then go back to Earth; Plan A will be a bust if Mann’s doesn’t work out.”

“The implications of our choice are pretty damn clear to me.”

Brand is silent for a long time.  The ice crunches underneath their feet, stretching away from them in all directions.  In a weird way, it reminds Natasha of Russia in the winter, only less familiar.  It’s certainly more alien than Asgard, at any rate.  She thinks that she might grow to like it here, if this is in fact where they will be staying.

(Except she won’t be staying— she’ll be going back home, to get her kids away from the dying Earth.)

“You didn’t believe me, did you?” Brand asks.  “When I said that love is quantifiable.”

Natasha looks at Brand.  “No, I believed you.”

“Then how come you didn’t agree with me?”

“To start— you may love Wolfe Edmunds, but the rest of us don’t.”  Natasha kicks aside a chunk of ice, watching it bounce down into an abyss.  “Secondly, it wasn’t up to me.  Even if I had agreed with you, we still would’ve been outvoted.  Thirdly… you’re right when you say that we love people who have died.  _I_ love people who have died.  Too many.  And sometimes yes, there’s a pull that I feel towards them.  But to where?  To what end?  That pull has terrified me ever since Steve Rogers breathed his last in front of me.”

Brand, to her credit, doesn’t look angry.  Instead, she looks thoughtful.  “My mother died when I was twenty.  And I still felt a connection to her, but it never scared me.  Like I could still feel her love for me, even though she was gone.  It was a small comfort at the time, but now…”

Natasha envies Brand, for a moment.  To be that optimistic about losing someone would have been a gift, but all Natasha has ever felt is loneliness.  For her, the memory of love never quite measured up to tangible human presence.

Dr. Mann’s life pod is orange and has a ripped American flag flying above it.  Romilly is the first to the door, undoing the hatch and waving the rest of them inside.  As soon as it’s sealed they remove their helmets.  Natasha goes over to the control panel and raises the cryo chamber from the floor, like raising a coffin out of the ground.  The others all exchange nervous glances before Brand steps forward and unlocks the pod.

Bruce is the one to unzip the sheet, which results in him holding onto a sobbing, shivering Dr. Mann for ten minutes.  The rest of them move automatically, getting the man a heat blanket and a cup of decade-old tea that’s been sitting around.  Natasha starts pacing around the pod while the others sit.  Occasionally one of the others will glance at her, like they’re tempted to ask her what’s wrong, but none of them seem able to work up the courage to do so right now.  Something about Mann being woken up has rubbed her the wrong way, and it—

Steve.

She wants to slap a palm to her forehead.  Duh, _of course_ it’s Steve.  Steve was ‘brought back from the dead’ in much the same way.  It shouldn’t bother her this much, but it does.  Maybe it’s the fact that the reminder is making her ache for one of her closest friends (who had never been nearly as ecstatic about waking up as Mann is right now), or maybe it’s just an unconscious association: waking up from a long sleep equals Steve equals memory of dead friends.  Natasha forces herself to sit and listen in on the conversation; anything to distract herself.

“…others?” Mann is asking.

“You’re it, sir,” Romilly answers.

“So far, surely?”

“Considering our current situation, that’s a very optimistic outlook, Dr. Mann,” Natasha interjects.  “We have barely enough fuel to make it back to Earth, much less fly to another planet to rescue someone.”

Mann looks down at his lap, a pained expression crossing his face.

Brand manages to coax him into talking about his planet.  Natasha’s lip curls when he talks about how cold it supposedly gets— yet another reminder of Russia. 

They go out on a hike shortly after, with Mann pointing out different landmarks he’s kept track of.  A part of Natasha wants to take off her helmet and breath in what must be cold, crisp air— something she longs for— but she resists the temptation.  She has no intention of suffocating.  After their trek they call down C.A.S.E. in the lander in order to start building their base. 

C.A.S.E. ambles up to Brand while they’re gathered back in Mann’s pod.

“Dr. Brand, you have an urgent message from Earth.”

“Okay, be right there.”  Brand stands and moves away from the group.  Natasha doesn’t pay much attention to her, figuring that her father wants to talk to her, until she hears the voice coming from C.A.S.E. and feels herself freeze. 

As though in slow motion she stands, walking over to Brand.  Murph’s voice is hollow as she delivers the news of Professor Brand’s death, and for a moment she looks like she might crack underneath the weight of it.  Brand’s hand latches onto Natasha’s, somehow, and Natasha startles, almost pulling away, before deciding that the other woman is allowed to have this.

“I’m sorry,” she offers.

“He wasn’t in pain,” Brand chokes out, smiling.  “He didn’t—“

“Brand, did you know?”

As if on cue, the entire pod goes silent.  The others are listening in; there’s a moment of shuffling and then Bruce is standing on Natasha’s other side.  He looks just as confused as Brand does.  Natasha, however… there’s a sinking feeling in her stomach, a pit of dread that only grows larger as Murph keeps speaking, looking like she’s too tired to be angry.

“He told you what this really was,” Murph says.  “Didn’t he?  Or maybe he didn’t, because he knew that you would never leave.  We’re all going to die here.  Run out of food, or run out of air, or something equally horrible.  Did Nat know?  Nat?  You knew, didn’t you?  You’re the Black Widow, you always know these things.”

“I don’t—“ whispers Brand.  “What is she talking about?”

“You left us,” Murph says.  Horror dawns in her eyes at the same time that it does in Natasha’s heart.  “You promised that you wouldn’t leave us, Nat.  You promised, but you did, oh god.”

 _No,_ Natasha wants to scream.  _No, I didn’t, I would never, please, Murph._

“It was never possible, was it?” she asks.  She knows without even looking that Dr. Mann is nodding.  She knows that he knew all along.  Next to her, Bruce has gone stiff with shock, muscles locking up as though he is preparing to transform.  She would normally be on edge, but for once she has something else to worry about.

“You would need to look inside of a black hole,” Doyle says.  He doesn’t sound as stunned as the rest of them, but his face is pale.

“He had the solution,” Bruce states.  “He had it the whole time, didn’t he?  How the hell did he manage to keep it from Dr. Foster?”

“Dr. Foster knew about it,” Mann answers, shrugging.  Bruce’s eyes all but bug out.  “But she kept looking for more until the day she died.  I know she was a good friend of yours, Dr. Banner.  I’m sorry that you had to find out about that like this.  I’m surprised that Professor Brand didn’t bring you in on this, to be honest.  Or that you didn’t figure it out for yourself.”

“Trust me, the only person Banner would consider giving up on is himself,” Natasha mutters.

“I always took his word for it,” Bruce answers.  “I saw that there could be something wrong, but he would always assure me that we would discuss it later, and I never noticed that we never did.  Jane never told me about it, but at least she didn’t decide who lives and who dies.”

“You have to understand, Dr. Banner,” sighs Mann.  “Once Professor Brand figured out that Plan A was a no-go, we had to focus our efforts on a way to save our species.  The fewer people who knew about it, the better; people are much less motivated when it comes to preserving humanity as opposed to preserving the people that they know in the here and now.”  Everyone is avoiding his gaze.  He turns to Natasha.  “Widow, you understand, don’t you?  You of all people should realize how crucial this is.  Should know what it’s like to sacrifice your humanity to save the world, like Professor Brand did.”

Natasha sort of wants to punch him in the face, but it’s Bruce who makes an aborted move towards doing so.  She lays her hand over his wrist, lightly, as a reminder to help him focus.  She hears him take a breath.

“Years ago, I might have,” Natasha says.  “I might have made the same call.  But if there were really no hope left for us, then we would’ve all died years ago.  When the Chitauri invaded, or when Ultron happened—“ (Bruce flinches) “— or when Thanos tried to kill everyone.  There’s a difference between taking precautions and just giving up.”

Silence fills the pod following her declaration.  Mann seems to be at a loss for words.

“You sound like Steve,” Bruce says at last.  His voice is broken. 

Natasha swallows.  “Brand, if we can get all of the supplies down here and get your lab set up, would you need the Endurance for anything else?”

Brand shakes her head.  “No, we should be fine.  Why?”  Even as she speaks, understanding dawns in her eyes.  “You want to go home.”

Natasha nods once in confirmation.  None of the others protest her suggestion, just look at her with what they probably imagine are understanding eyes.  All Natasha sees, however, is pity, which is the last thing in the world that she has time for, so she avoids their gazes as they all start to mill around the compound.  Brand, Doyle and Romilly gather in the corner, speaking in low tones.  Mann is shuffling through papers, but his shoulders are tense; he’s not happy about her decision.  He fumbles with something for a moment and jerks his head towards where the other three are standing.  Natasha’s eyes narrow.

“Natasha.”

Bruce is still next to her, and her hand is still on his wrist.  She lets it fall back to her side, but he doesn’t move away from her.  “Are you sure about this?”

“I need to go.”

“But…”

“Bruce.”

She hasn’t called him by his first name, not since before he left.  She doesn’t mean for it to, but somehow all of the agony she’s feeling— the ache she has for her kids, the wretched feeling of her skin being stretched over her bones for too long, the despair that sometimes threatens to claw its way up her throat when she thinks about how long she’s lived— it makes its way into her tone, and it stops Bruce cold.  She can see in his eyes that her pain is shared by him, that he understands not only her desire to go back and be with her children, but also to die with them.

They end up sitting together during dinner, eating powdered soup and talking quietly.  Bruce explains how he ended up working with Jane Foster after he left the team, and how she grew to be his closest friend until her death.  He explains when he realized that he would be the one outliving her by far.  He admits that there were many days where he considered returning to the team, but being underground with other scientists meant that he hadn’t had an incident in years, so he decided not to.

“Murph and Tom are Clint’s great-grandkids,” Natasha tells him.  “Their mother died when they were both young, and their father passed away a year later.  Nate called me up after that, said he was getting too old to raise them on his own.”

She remembers.  Murph had almost been too young to notice— but she was always smart, and it didn’t take the three (going on four) year old to figure out why Tom called her ‘Nat’ while she called her ‘Ma’. 

“And you turned into a farmer,” Bruce says dubiously.

“Farming isn’t bad.  It’s a routine, it’s being careful, and it’s a bit more luck than I’d like, but it was hard work, which I appreciated at the time.  Nate used to tell me that he never thought he’d see the day when Auntie Nat was climbing around on tractors and testing out crops.”

“Yeah?  And what would you say?”

Natasha grins.  “The first time?  That it beats going insane from boredom.  All the times after that were different variations on ‘I never thought I’d see my nephew with a beard’.  Always out of earshot of the kids.  He used to always try to make light of the whole ‘really slow aging’ thing.  Some days it worked, some days it didn’t.  We used to pretend that I was named after him.”

“Jane always called it ‘aging gracefully’,” Bruce says, making air quotations.

“That’s generous.”

“That’s what I said.”

Natasha looks over at the others, where they’re laughing and eating together.  “You’ll keep an eye on them, right?  They’re good people.  But Mann… keep an eye on Mann in a different way.”

Bruce looks startled.  “Why?”

“Just a feeling.”

Bruce is starting to look at Mann with alarm.  “Your feelings are usually scarily accurate, just so you know.”

“No, I know.  But it’s been a while since I’ve had to read anyone.  Might be a little rusty.”

“Yeah?”  There’s a teasing edge to his voice as he looks back at her this time.  “Losing your edge, old woman?”

“No more than you’re losing your hair color, old man,” she retorts.  She ruffles his hair a bit; he ducks his head out of the way, laughing.  It sends a thrill of wonder through her for a moment, because although they’ve both lived too long, time has done what she could not: it has made him comfortable with himself, unashamed of who he is.  He will always be guilty; that aspect of his life will never leave him.  But she thinks she’d be right if she said that he trusts the Hulk now.  This isn’t the restrained laughter from his time with the team (and back then, just the fact that he was laughing at all seemed like progress).  This is, honestly, beautiful.

“I was almost going to ask if I could go with you,” he admits, once their laughter has subsided.  “But that’s… that’s your life, Natasha.  I don’t have a place in it.”

Natasha almost grabs his hand, then thinks better of it.  It never occurred to her that this particular goodbye might be hard.

* * *

Setting up camp will only take a few Earth days, but with the addition of preparing T.A.R.S. to fly into Gargantua, an extra day is needed.  Romilly and T.A.R.S. are working on getting what they need from K.I.P.P.  Brand and Bruce are flying the supplies they need for their lab down in the lander, with C.A.S.E.’s help.  Natasha, Mann and Doyle go to mark sites for the lab and the base camp, hopefully somewhere that will allow them all to take off their helmets.  Natasha walks a few steps behind Mann and Doyle.

Mann is going off on some spiel about the survival instinct of human beings.  He keeps glancing at her like he expects her to chime in, but Natasha usually responds with a blank look.  That doesn’t stop him from forcing her to engage in the conversation when he starts talking about how a survival instinct applies to one’s children.

She knows whose faces that she’ll see when she dies.  She doesn’t need Mann to tell her.

Natasha notices what’s coming a few seconds before it happens— she sees Mann tense out of the corner of her eye and prepares to jump at him.  Throwing him over the edge of the cliff will be easy.  He doesn’t try to grab her, though.  Instead he puts Doyle in a headlock, one arm wrapped awkwardly around his helmet rim, the other prepared to rip out his air tube.

“I’m sorry,” he says while Doyle struggles.  “Don’t— don’t contact the others, or he loses his air.”

Ordinarily, Natasha would find it easy to get him away from Doyle.  As it is, however, her movements are too hindered by her suit.  She moves her hand away from where it had been hovering by her transmitter, letting both arms hang at her sides.

“I can’t let you leave with the Endurance.”

“Mm-hmm.”  Natasha rolls her eyes.  “Well, I _was_ serious about going back to Earth until I dropped a probe down closer to the ‘surface’ this morning.”

Mann stares at her.  “You already knew.”

“Frankly?  You’re a terrible liar.  You keep glancing at the rest of us when you think we aren’t looking, like you’ve got something to hide.  Your breathing picks up when we discuss the ‘breathable air’ that’s supposed to be down there.  But I really knew something was up when you tried to keep T.A.R.S. and Romilly from taking a look at K.I.P.P.  Which would be why Romilly is helping Bruce and Brand, and T.A.R.S. is taking care of that himself.”

“That wasn’t what we—“

“After _this_?” Natasha drawls, gesturing towards him and Doyle.  “Do you really think you’ll have any say in what we do?”

“Don’t judge me,” Mann shouts back.  He’s getting desperate, which is both good and bad.  “You were never tested like I was!”

Natasha’s hands tremble with how much she wants to _hurt_ him for saying that.  She stays still, though; she wouldn’t be able to get to Doyle in time.

“Come on!” Doyle yells, still struggling.  “Get this bastard, Romanoff!  What happens to me doesn’t matter!”

“What exactly do you think is going to happen, Mann?” asks Natasha.  “That you’ll get me to comply because you’ve got one guy in a headlock?  That you’ll tell me to throw myself over the edge of the cliff and that I’ll just do it, no questions asked?  So that you can throw Doyle over anyway, and tell the others that there was a horrible accident?  You didn’t think this through very well.”

Mann laughs bitterly.  “Well, I didn’t exactly count on two Avengers being here instead of one.”  Without warning he rips the oxygen tube from its port in Doyle’s helmet and then throws Doyle over the cliff’s edge.  Natasha swears in Russian and dives after him, rolling with him to the bottom; they narrowly miss the massive chasm next to them, but there isn’t any way they’re getting back up.  Natasha scrambles over to Doyle, who is already gasping.

The tube is ripped beyond repair, but she pushes it back into its socket anyway, hoping to buy him time while she fumbles with her transmitter with her other hand. 

“Brand!  Bruce!  Romilly!  Anyone?”

There’s a moment of crackling, then Romilly answers.  “Romanoff?  What’s going on?”

“Doyle’s losing oxygen.”

“Shit.  We’re coming.  Just hang on, okay?”

Natasha doesn’t bother to answer.  Doyle is struggling to take tiny breaths, trying to calm himself down, but she can tell that it’s difficult for him.  She almost wants to hit herself when she remembers that they have extra tanks in their boots for emergencies, but when she checks both her and Doyle’s boots, she finds them empty.

“Fuck Mann,” she snarls.  Then, because there’s little else she can do: “Doyle, keep that up.  Small breaths.  Tap my hand once if you feel like you’re about to pass out, okay?”

She looks back up at the cliff to see if she can make out Mann’s silhouette, but he’s already vanished.  This landscape is harsh and unforgiving, but it’s the only thing that Natasha has as she waits, trying to keep Doyle awake and listening with strained ears to see if the lander is approaching.  Finally she picks up a distant rumble and sees the lander soar over to them, with Brand jumping out of the hatch before it’s even landed. 

“Romanoff!” she yells.  She’s on their knees next to them and digging out her extra oxygen pack while Natasha pops off Doyle’s helmet.  They both help him back to the lander, where Romilly is sitting in the pilot’s chair. 

“Is T.A.R.S. still with K.I.P.P.?” Natasha demands.

“Yeah, why?”

“Tell him to get out of there.  I think K.I.P.P. might be rigged.”

“What?” Romilly asks at the same time that Brand says, “Where’s Mann?”

“Probably heading back to the compound to hijack the ranger.”

A stunned silence follows her declaration.  Horror dawns on Brand and Romilly’s faces, especially when Doyle has finally regained enough control over his breathing to declare her correct.  Natasha feels a moment of pity for all of them; they look like their world has ended.  Betrayed by one of their own, someone who they thought was like them.  Someone who should have been willing to do the right thing, but instead turned coward.

“Where’s Bruce?” she asks.

“He stayed at the compound,” Romilly says.  “He was busy, so Brand and I told him that we were going and he said to keep him updated.”

“Bruce?” Natasha calls through her communicator.  There’s no answer.  She curses and all but shoves Romilly out of the pilot’s seat, taking the stick and throwing the others to the ground as she swings the lander around, moving it as fast as she can to get them back to the compound.  Mann’s got a big head start on them, but she’s got the ability to recklessly fly without getting them killed.  Doyle looks terrified by the way she’s maneuvering them, but Natasha can’t bring herself to care.

“What?  What is it?” asks Brand.

“Mann’s going to make him go green.”

“Well that’s not too bad, right?” Doyle asks.  “He was fine on Miller’s planet.”

“Miller’s planet had this wonderful commodity called breathable air.  The Hulk is a lot of things, but one of those things is a living organism that needs oxygen to survive.  Hulk or not, indestructible or not, he won’t be able to breathe, and he won’t be small enough to use one of the temporary oxygen packs.”

It would also be a great way for Mann to get himself killed, but then desperation usually leads to stupidity.  Natasha grits her teeth and drives faster.

She pulls up when they reach the compound, telling Romilly to take over as she repeats Brand’s earlier move and starts running.  Bruce and Mann are standing in front of it, talking to each other by the looks of it, but then Mann starts to move to the side, away from the compound, and Bruce unknowingly angles himself closer to it so that he can keep facing Dr. Mann.

Not seeing any other choice, Natasha takes a deep breath and rips off her helmet.

“ _Bruce!_ ” she screams.

The scene in front of her blazes orange; she’s knocked a couple steps back as the compound explodes.  Mann has taken off towards the ranger, but Bruce was lifted bodily up by the force and is now in a crumpled heap a few yards away from where he’d been standing before.  Natasha shoves her helmet back on as she sprints for him, aware of the chatter of the others in her ear and paying no mind to it.  She falls to her knees next to Bruce, breathing in a sigh of relief when she sees no discernable damage to his suit.

His eyes are open.  They’re green.

“No, no, no, hey,” she says, hoisting him up so that he’s propped up against her knees.  “Hey, Bruce.  Look at me.  Can you hear me?  Look at me.”

For emphasis, she runs her hand along his wrist, a motion he should recognize.  His eyes snap to hers.

“You’re okay,” she says.  “You’re okay, I promise.  I know you can hear me.  I need to you breathe with me, okay?  Inhale for five, exhale for five.  One, two, three…”

Bruce starts shaking in her grip and she nearly panics.  The sounds he’s making are familiar, ones that she’s heard before.  She hauls him up further, wrapping her arms around him, and somehow manages to keep speaking in a calm tone.  She keeps counting, and she keeps breathing until she can feel his chest rise against hers, their breathing somehow in sync.  His arms come up around her as well, and he lets out a barely audible sigh. 

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Natasha sags in relief, releasing him.  “Don’t thank me yet,” she warns.

Bruce doesn’t need her help to get him to the lander.  The rest of the crew are already inside, and they all let out obvious exhales at the sight of them.  Natasha hops into the pilot’s chair once again after making sure that Bruce is seated, and starts heading for the sky.

“What happened?” Bruce demands. 

“Mann got lonely,” Natasha answers.  “His data was faked.  He had K.I.P.P. rigged to explode; that’s why I convinced Romilly to work with you guys today.”

“You knew?”

“Not until this morning.  I made a mistake; I thought he was going to try to kill me instead of Doyle, but he read me better than I thought he would.”

“He doesn’t know the Endurance docking procedures,” C.A.S.E. points out.

“Autopilot?”

“T.A.R.S. disabled it.”

Natasha chuckles.  “Robot after my own heart, T.A.R.S.”

“Anything for you, Romanoff.”

All the warnings in the world will be useless to a guy like Mann, but Natasha and the others try anyway.  They warn him against docking, and then against opening the airlock, and then against opening the hatch.  Brand seems to be the one who’s the most desperate to get him to surrender, as though she’s the one who will fail if they don’t.  Natasha wishes that there were time to tell her the truth— that this is her own fault this time.

Then, for the second time in as little as an hour, there’s an explosion.

It sends them all into silence, and it sends the Endurance spinning.  Natasha knows that it means that Mann’s corpse is now somewhere in the debris, but she ignores that and instead starts to fly towards the spinning spaceship.

“What are you doing?” sputters Romilly.

“C.A.S.E., analyze the spin.  T.A.R.S., Doyle, I need you at the docking controls now.  Brand, I need you to keep an eye on Bruce.  Romilly, take over for me if I pass out.  Bruce, copilot chair.”

To their credit, no one argues except C.A.S.E.  “We’ll never make it before the Endurance enters the atmosphere.”

“You wanna fight about this or start calculating?”

“If we mess this up, we’re dead.”

“If we don’t try, we’re dead anyway.”  Natasha looks at the man in the copilot chair next to her and sees the faith in his eyes.  It shocks her, but she doesn’t let that show.  “Bruce, your job is fairly simple.  Whatever else you do, don’t go green.”

Bruce smiles grimly.

“Alright, people,” Natasha says.  “Here we go.  Hang onto your butts.”

She sets the lander’s thrusters to spin.  As the G-forces start to pick up, she grits her teeth against the blackness that swims in and out of her vision; she can tell that Brand’s already lost consciousness.  Romilly has as well.  Bruce is still awake, and still watching her, but it soon becomes clear that he’s fighting to stay that way.  Doyle is the only one who doesn’t seem to have any problem with it.

“We’ve matched the spin,” C.A.S.E. announces.

“Doyle, T.A.R.S.,” Natasha says, glancing around at their unconscious crew.  “Any day now would be good.”

There’s a whooshing feeling in her stomach.  This— this is crazy, this is life and death, but a part of Natasha feels exhilarated.  She huffs out a breath and waits, waits for one of the two to give the word.  They’re entering the atmosphere— this isn’t going to be pretty—

“Lock!” shouts Doyle.

Natasha grits her teeth and fires the thrusters in the opposite direction, slowly halting the Endurance’s spin.  The others regain their senses, once the spinning slows, and Bruce takes a few gasping breaths, green receding from his irises.  She can’t quite stop the laugh that breaks out of her once they’ve leveled out and are pushing out of orbit; it isn’t long before the rest of the crew joins in, the adrenaline high making them all somewhat giggly.

“That was _insane_ ,” Romilly pants.  “But awesome.”

* * *

The embryos are fine.  Their fuel’s pretty much shot to hell, though, and they’re headed for Gargantua.  It doesn’t take long for the seven of them to work out a plan, one that involves Natasha piloting the ranger and T.A.R.S. piloting the lander.  The rest will be waiting in the main segment of the Endurance.

Natasha’s glad that they’ll be able to make it to Edmunds’ planet together.  These scientists have so much hope inside them; Plan A may not have worked out, but she’s willing to bet that Plan B will be a resounding success.  She and Bruce exchange nods before she climbs into the ranger.  It’s a gesture that he probably thinks means ‘see you soon’.

For once, the plan goes off without a hitch; they manage to push out of Gargantua’s orbit, and soon it’s time for T.A.R.S. to detach.

“Bye everyone,” he says.  “Try not to miss me too much.  Romanoff, I will see you on the other side.”

“You got it, tin can.”

His statement seems to go by unnoticed.  Natasha tightens her grip on the controls, almost holding her breath as she waits for her cue.  The others are starting to talk about what awaits them on Edmunds’ planet, unknowing, unprepared— she knows she should have at least told Bruce, for god’s sake.

“Ranger Two, prepare to detach.”

“ _What?”_   It’s Brand who speaks first, reacting almost violently.  “No, no—“

Natasha gives her a two-fingered salute.  “We have to detach both of them, Dr. Brand.  You guys won’t make it to Edmunds’ planet if we don’t.”

“Natasha.”  Bruce.  Her heart goes out to him, but her decision was made long ago.  “Natasha, please— please don’t.”

She can tell, by his voice, that he knows just how futile his begging is.  There’s already a resigned tone to it, like he knew that this was going to happen all along.  She wishes that she’d found some way to say goodbye to him— maybe some small gesture that would allow her to touch him, one last time.  She didn’t, though, because she knew that he would figure it out.  He’s always known her better than she expected.

“I adore you, too,” he says, voice hollow.

Then she’s floating away, and then her world becomes blackness.

* * *

 First, there’s nothing.  Then there’s a whirl of color and light surrounding her, and Natasha can’t think straight— what the hell is happening to her?  Is she already dead?  She can’t exactly remember being torn to shreds (which is what’s supposed to happen).  She’s surrounded by walls of _something_ , like densely-packed guitar strings.  She pushes herself through the strange world, exploring, but only finds the same pattern, again and again.

There’s movement out of the corner of her eye, and her gut clenches.

Oh, _Murph._

Well, if she hadn’t been sure if she was dead before, she is now.

This kind of torture, however, isn’t exactly what she has in mind.  She can see Murph, at eleven years old, wandering around her room, but Murph can’t seem to hear anything she’s saying.  Natasha wishes she could throw herself into her daughter’s room and wrap her arms around her, and never let go.  Her grief turns to rage when she sees herself enter Murph’s, room, to explain to her why she’s leaving.

“You dumbass,” she whispers.  “Why’d you leave her?  Why leave them?”

_You left us._

With a yell, Natasha slams her fist against the bookshelf.  One of the books is knocked off, startling Murph, who seems to stare straight at her.  She flinches back a bit, even though her daughter’s gaze isn’t judgmental, but curious. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.  How does she tell Murph that?  Remembering suddenly what Murph once said, about how her ghost was using Morse to communicate, she uses the bookshelf to send that message.  It takes Murph a couple days, but once she solves it, she looks up from her notebook with a confused look on her face.

“Sorry?” she asks.  “What for?”

“Everything,” Natasha answers. 

“You broke my dad’s lander model once, but that’s okay.  Grandpa helped me glue it back together.”

Natasha chokes out a laugh.

Murph smiles, like she can hear it, and leaves her bedroom.  Natasha… Natasha drifts through the alien world, wondering what she’s supposed to _do_ , now.  Is she going to be here for an eternity, watching her daughter live out her days?  Is this what she’s been condemned to, for everything she’s done in the past?  That thought almost makes Natasha want to curl up in a ball and never move.

“…manoff… Romanoff?  You here somewhere?”

Natasha’s hand shoots to her transmitter.  She almost can’t believe it, but… “T.A.R.S.?”

“Yep.  Nice to know you survived too.”

“I’m still not sure that I did,” Natasha says.  “Do you know what this place is?”

“Not really,” T.A.R.S. admits.  “What I’ve guessed so far is that ‘they’ brought us here.  Saved us for… something, although I honestly have no idea what.”

Natasha glances around herself at the makeshift space, her mind racing.  “I do,” she says after a moment.  “I do.  I know what this is.”

She pushes herself off of one of the walls, moving back to the bookshelf.  “The Asgardians had the ability to construct dimensions all on their own, but the dimensions were only ever half complete.  It was impossible to communicate with anyone outside of the dimension except by exerting a specific physical force.”

“Gravity?”

“Got it in one.”

“So you think this was made by Asgardians?”

“No,” Natasha says.  “I think this was made by humans.  Not now, but later on… maybe we somehow develop this kind of capability.  As for why we’re here…”  It hits her like a lightning bolt.  “T.A.R.S., did you get the data?”

“Yes, but its complexity is— she’s a little girl, Romanoff.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Natasha says.  “She doesn’t need to know it now, she needs to know it later.  As for how we’re going to transmit it, well… I gave her just the thing for it.”

* * *

Far away, separated by years and distance, an adult Murphy Cooper clutches at an antique communicator and sobs, “Nat, oh god, _Nat._ ”

* * *

There is a moment.  The world loses all color.  Shapes are distorted, but the Endurance is still recognizable.  Natasha floats towards it and can see through its walls, see Bruce, who is looking right at her.  She reaches out a hand; he reaches back, until they can feel one another’s warmth.  She tightens her grip, fighting against a wave of sadness, and thinks, _Goodbye._

But he smiles, pure joy on his face, and thinks _Hello._

* * *

“Was this really what it was like?”

Natasha’s sitting out on an exact replica of her front porch.  The house is silent behind her, so unlike the way it was when she left.  T.A.R.S. ambles over next to her.  This place is somewhat glorious, a triumph of human engineering, but she can’t seem to rid herself of a feeling of falseness.  There are people here, and they’re happy and healthy, but they’re too peaceful, it seems.  She’s waiting for the day that Murph arrives, because that’s her only reason for being here right now.

“I’d say almost, but there’s no dirt,” Natasha explains.  “So no, not really.”

“What about before?”

Before what?  Before Thanos?  Before Ultron?  Before the food shortage?  “Earth was never like this,” she says.  “Earth was always messy, and complicated, and ragged.  Earth was beautiful and terrible all at once; to be honest, I’m surprised that nature didn’t turn on us sooner.”

“You don’t like it here.”

Natasha exhales.  “These people look at me, and they see a legend.  Well, not because of this— Murph is the real hero— but they see an Avenger, from old stories.  I’m an outsider to these people, T.A.R.S.  Someone who, by all rights, shouldn’t exist anymore.  We’ve been in a black hole, for god’s sake.  What would I even do with myself, here?”

“Farm?”

“Ha-ha.”

“Thank you for laughing.”

She goes to the hospital a few days later, nudging her way through the massive crowd that surrounds Murph’s bed.  It makes her feel warmer, knowing that all of these people are here for her daughter while she’s on her deathbed, but it’s nothing compared to the smile that’s on Murph’s face when she sits next to her.

Murph takes her hand easily with both of hers. 

“You know that the doctors think you’re a crazy old bat, coming out here when you’re 98 years old,” Natasha tells her.

“Yeah?”  Murph’s tone is dry, but her smile only seems to get brighter.  “Where do you think I get that from?”

“Your great-grandfather, probably.”

Murph laughs.  “You’re a very quiet ghost, you know,” she says.  “Very gentle.  Always guiding me when I needed it.  Nobody believed me when I told them that you were helping me; they thought I was doing it all myself.”

“Well, you pretty much were,” Natasha admits.  “I have no idea what any of that data meant.  Also, a giant robot helped too.”

Murph’s expression sobers.

“I knew you’d come back.”

“I didn’t,” Natasha whispers.  She rubs her thumb against her daughter’s knuckles once.  “I thought I had left you, Murph.  Even if I didn’t mean to, when we got that call…”

The woman in front of her ignores her, looking her straight in the eye.  “My mom promised me she’d come back,” she says, “and she did.”

Natasha feels herself go rigid.  She never— she never—

Murph gives her a knowing look, like she knows exactly what’s going on inside her head.  “Now, I don’t want you giving up anytime soon,” she says, more business-like now.  “I know you’re not going to want to farm until your joints seize up and you can’t stand up without a backache anymore.  Dr. Banner, and Dr. Brand, and the others… they’re going to need you.”

“Murph…”

Her expression hardens.  “I don’t want you here when I die,” she says.  “I don’t want you seeing that.”

Natasha can already tell that she’s fighting a losing battle here, so she kisses Murph on the forehead before slipping her hand out of her daughter’s grasp.  As she backs away from the bed so that Murph’s family (not hers, not hers, her family is dying), she feels her heart break for what she thinks might be the last time.

She wanders through town aimlessly for a while, feeling numb.  She visits the graveyard, where she finds the graves of Tom and his wife.  She pays her silent respects to them, giving herself time to grieve over the fact that she may have gotten to say goodbye to Murph, but she will never see Tom again. 

The funeral is short.  Natasha hides in the back of the crowd, like she once did for Steve’s funeral, and Wanda’s, and Pepper’s and countless others.  This one is somehow both better and worse than those, but she leaves it feeling a bit more hopeful.

A bit more alive.

* * *

It doesn’t take much to convince T.A.R.S. to tag along, and it’s even easier to steal a spacesuit.  Stealing a ranger is a little more complicated, but she pulls it off anyway.  She feels light, like a feather, even clad in her suit as she is; her hands are steady on the controls, and she thinks that there might be a smile on her face

Natasha doesn’t look back; instead, she angles her ship to the stars.

_Hang on, Bruce.  I’m coming._


End file.
